His Father's Son
by Backseat Writer
Summary: What is a father? What is a son? Who determines where one ends and the other begins? Adam Matsuda is about to learn the past is sometimes hidden for a reason. Turtleverse Mix.
1. Chapter 1

* * *

_I got the idea for this story after one of my coworkers was babbling about their soaps while I was trying to ignore her by daydreaming about the boys in green. Oops. Sorry Master Splinter!_

_It's a mix of the turtleverses, but I've tried to keep more of the 2003 and movie storylines since more people are familiar with those, except where it doesn't fit my needs. Most notably, Master Splinter is Hamato Yoshi like in the old series -you have been warned. The guys are also about nineteen, to give me a little flexibility for storylining. The first few chaps will be OC heavy, but I promise the guys will have plenty of screen time!_

_The T rating is for occasional swearing and innuendo, but nothing bad. If necessary I will move it to M, but I don't think it will be necessary. _

_This is my first fic on this site, so reviews are welcome, flames are not._

_Disclaimer: I do not own the TMNT, for which they are probably very grateful._

* * *

**His Father's Son**

* * *

"Adam?"

"Out in a second, Jen."

Calmly rinsing the razor in the sink, Adam Matsuda quickly patted his face dry and opened the bathroom door. His wife smiled muzzily at him.

"Good morning." She greeted with a light kiss on the cheek, attempting to pass by him into the bathroom. He chuckled, and caught her deftly around the waist, pulling her to him.

"Hey!" Jenna protested sleepily as he nuzzled her neck. She squirmed in his arms, turning to face him. He let her, her brown hair tickling his nose as it went past, until she was sliding her arms around his neck in a silent request. He smiled, and kissed her again.

"Mmm." She mumbled, leaning her forehead against his as he let his hands drop, following the slight curve of her waist down to her hips. "You smell so good."

"So do you."

Jenna snorted lightly, pulling away from him. "I smell terrible. I haven't had a shower yet, Mr. Hog-the-Bathroom Matsuda."

"No." He said simply, ignoring the jibe in favor of watching her move around the bathroom, pulling out a towel and assorted paraphernalia in preparation for the day. He loved watching her in the mornings, seeing how she kind of stumbled and listed to one side until she finished waking up in the shower. She wasn't in the sexy white nightgown today, just his shirt from the day before that had missed the toss for the hamper. Somehow, the mis-buttoned length was almost more alluring than the lingerie he'd bought her for Christmas. His shirt was nicely oversized on her, but added to the sweet college girl look she tended to evoke and displayed nearly all her legs. "You smell like sex."

Jenna made a noise and threw the loofah at him. "Shut up."

"Never."

She shot a look at him, an amused sparkle in her rolling brown eyes. "Whatever. Going out while I'm at work?"

"Yep." Adam tossed the loofah back at her. She missed the catch and had to fish it out from behind the towel bar where it caught.

"You visiting your mom today?"

He paused, his good mood fading a little. "Maybe." He admitted finally.

Jenna watched him for a moment as he worried the fraying edge of the towel around his waist, her tired brown eyes sympathetic. "She's already told you everything she can, Adam. It's not like she can conjure him out of thin air or anything."

"I know." He admitted quietly. "I just… wonder."

Jenna sighed, moving forward to touch his arms. "It's been almost thirty years, Adam, and she only met him for one night. In_ Japan_, for God's sake. You're lucky she even remembered his name."

"I know." He repeated, looking down at the floor. Her toenails were still painted, the pale rose color she favored starting to chip from too much time spent shoved into conservative heels.

"I know you miss your dad, Adam." Jenna said softly. "I miss him too. He was a great man. But do you really need to find this guy?"

Adam swallowed at the mention of his father. Akio Matsuda had died barely a year before, and it had been a terrible shock to Adam, who'd always seen his parents as ageless and immortal. He didn't think he'd have been able to survive without Jenna by his side, but the experience had prompted something completely unexpected in him –an almost overpowering need to find out more about himself. About his origins, his family history, and about the man who'd helped his mother conceive him almost thirty years ago.

"I have to, Jen." He said at last, lifting his eyes to her sleepy, worried face. "I know he's not really my dad. But biologically he is my father. He's a part of me and I don't know what that means. I need to know."

Jenna hugged him, sliding her arms under his and leaning her forehead against his. It was one of her favorite positions, since they were both the same height. It had prompted plenty of teasing at their wedding about the bride and groom being the tallest people there, but neither the Bentley or the Matsuda families had ever counted height in their blessings. Adam counted himself lucky that he'd hit somewhere close to average height at all.

"I know you do." She whispered. "I just worry, that's all. You don't know what this guy's like. He may not want to meet you. He may have married and had a family, or be in prison. He could even be dead. I just don't want to see you disappointed, that's all."

Adam kissed her gently, freeing one hand to move a strand of sleep-tousled brown hair that had fallen into her eyes. "I know." He said quietly. "I'm not getting my hopes up. I just… want to know what happened to him after he and mom… you know. And maybe… I don't know. Maybe I can find some answers."

"I hope you do, babe." Jenna kissed him again, squeezing him slightly. "But if you don't, I'll always be here for you, okay? I love you."

He tightened his arms around her, molding her body to his and feeling the buttons from the shirt dig into his chest. "I love you too."

She smiled warmly before kissing him one last time, this time lightly on the nose. "I know. But if you don't let go of me soon, I'm going to be late for work."

Adam laughed softly, and let her go.

* * *

The small corner deli by her work was bustling with the lunch rush as Jenna Matsuda scanned the glass case for the day's specials. Her mind was only half on food however, since she was talking to her mother on her cell phone.

"…have had him do the shopping. It isn't natural. You know men can't pass up their little luxuries."

"Mom, Adam is better at bargain shopping than I am. It's his penny pinching that got us enough in savings to afford the new apartment in the first place." She reminded her mother patiently.

There was a sniff on the other end. "That doesn't make it right. Shopping is a woman's profession."

"Whatever, mom." Jenna rolled her eyes. She loved her mother, but Katherine Bentley had some odd ideas about the appropriate roles of men and women. In some respects she was a lot like her rather traditional mother-in-law, but Tomomi Matsuda was far more flexible in her ideas and attitude than her mother would ever be. "That wasn't the problem. He got everything on the list, I just forgot that I didn't add the produce and overreacted. I guess freaked might be a better word. I can't believe I yelled at him over lettuce."

"He's a man, dear. He'll mark it down to an unsolvable mystery of women and get over it."

"I doubt it. Adam's smarter than that. It I don't tell him something soon it'll start bugging him and he'll drive us both nuts. But I did make it up to him last night, so he might just forget about it."

"Then why does it bother you?"

Jenna sighed. "I dunno. It just does. Maybe I'm just getting my PMS a little early this time."

"I'm sure that's all it is." Her mother said soothingly. "Living in that city with millions of other people in your hair all the time would be enough to drive anyone's Aunt Flo wacko."

"Mom!" Jenna squealed in mild dismay, laughing a little as her abrupt outburst caught the attention of the man behind her. She waved his curiosity away.

"Don't 'mom' me Jenna. I know about these things. And if you are comfortable enough to tell me how you 'made it up' to you husband last night, then you can survive a little commentary on your PMS."

"Mom…" She groaned, grateful that the speakerphone on her cellphone was broken. If she'd hit the wrong button right before her mom said that… probably no one would notice since this was New York City, but Jenna probably would have been truly mortified anyway. It was one thing when she said it. It was another when her parents did.

"Order?" The vaguely ethnic guy behind the counter had to bark to catch her attention over the noise in the deli, and it only succeeded because his heavy accent made it sound more like "udder."

Jenna started pointing at her usual selection, nodding and watching absently as he quickly made up her sandwich. "He seemed okay this morning, so I guess my apology worked. But I dunno… I wish I could read his mind sometimes. Or at least his mom's. They've both got that inscrutable thing down pat, and I can never tell if they're actually thinking the opposite of what they're saying…"

"Jenna, what's really bothering you?"

She blinked. "Huh?"

"You never worry about patching things up with Adam unless something's bothering you. The man adores you, and you know it. So what's really bothering you?"

She bit her lip for a moment, watching the meat going onto the sandwich and swallowing when her stomach churned a little. She probably shouldn't have had that egg for breakfast.

"He got a call from the archives after breakfast. The woman who's been helping him with the records there finally found something."

"This is a bad thing?"

"No!" She protested quickly. "No, it's what he's been hoping for."

"But…?"

"I just don't know, mom. Something feels… wrong." She struggled with her words for a moment, watching the lettuce and cheese be covered with the second slice of bread. "It's like… I think he's trying to find out about this guy because he misses his dad. Akio was everything to him. His best friend, his idol, everything. And I'm afraid that he's trying to use this guy as… a replacement I guess. Someone to fill the hole, instead of actually having to admit he'd dead and not coming back."

There was silence while her mother mulled that over, and Jenna transferred the cell phone to her shoulder, pining it there with her head while she dug around in her purse for the deli's frequent customer discount card. Her sandwich had been wrapped in paper and handed to her by the time her mother answered.

"Have you talked to him about it?" She asked gently.

Jenna blew out a sigh as she accepted her change. "Yeah. But he says that isn't why he wants to know about the guy. He says it's because he wants to know more about where he came from."

"And you think he's fooling himself." Her mother stated.

"Well, yeah… I guess… I dunno." She took the receipt and waved a friendly farewell to the cashier before starting the process of squeezing through the crowd to get back onto the nearly as crowded street. "I've just got a bad feeling about the whole thing, mom. I don't know what to think anymore. I'm trying to be supportive and all, but I just don't see any other reason why he would be so determined to find a guy that he never cared existed before now."

"Maybe he's curious. I've heard that it's not unusual for adopted kids to go looking for their birth parents."

Jenna shook her head, forgetting for a second that her mother couldn't see it as she popped out the crowded door of the deli. "Maybe, but I don't think so."

"Why not?" Her mother argued. "Anything's possible."

"Then why didn't he go looking earlier?"

Her mother sighed. "Jenna, I know what it looks like, but try to think about this a little. I went through the same thing when your grandmother died. He's always had his parents, and now suddenly he's half orphan. One of the most important things in the world is suddenly gone and it seems like he doesn't know anything about him or himself."

"Yeah…" Jenna said slowly. "But Akio's not the one he's trying to find."

"Because he already found everything he can. I think you mentioned a few months ago that wherever Akio was from got destroyed?"

"Uh huh. A little fishing village. It got wiped out by a tsunami and a bunch of typhoons years ago. Adam said that the government there said that all the paperwork was destroyed and there were only a few survivors, and when he tried to follow up none of them were related to the Matsudas."

"So no brothers or sisters to lean on, and no aunts or uncles or grandparents to ask. You also said that he tried talking to his father's friends. The ones at your wedding?"

Jenna wondered where her mother was going with this. "Yeah, but none of them…" She trailed off for a second, realization finally hitting her. "…They refused to talk much about 'the old country.' They just said that they were Americans now. And I know he doesn't want to ask his mom about Akio much because it hurts her as much as it does him."

"Exactly." Katherine Bentley sounded relieved that her daughter had finally clicked onto her train of reasoning. "Now unlike me and your grandmother, instead of giving up Adam has another option. Add the fact that he probably is curious about the man and he knows time is running out, and you get one determined Matsuda."

"But…" Jenna felt horribly guilty poking at her mother's theory. It sounded so much more benign and reassuring than hers. "That doesn't mean he isn't avoiding it. It just means he has even more reason to latch onto this guy."

"Maybe." Her mother admitted. "But Adam's a good boy, Jenna, or your father and I would never have let you near him. I don't think that's what's going on. It doesn't sound to me like he's avoiding anything. I think he's just working through his feelings in his own way, that's all. You're just borrowing trouble."

Jenna dodged a small gaggle of businessmen in identical navy suits and ducked around the corner of the building that contained her office with a sigh. "I hope you're right mom."

"Of course I'm right. I'm your mother."

Jenna rolled her eyes, but couldn't resist a smile.

* * *

The New York City branch of the National Archives was surprisingly busy today, but Adam didn't really notice as he sorted through the small pile of documents the clerk had brought him. It had taken months to locate the information in the back files of the archives, especially since it had turned out that most of the information was missing or misfiled. He was determined to memorize every scrap that the clerks had finally been able to dig up.

He shuffled past a petition for naturalization from over twenty years before, a declaration of intent, a certificate of marriage abroad…

Adam paused, and flipped back a page in the small stack of photocopies the kindly clerk had made for him. There, behind the marriage license, was an expired immigration record for a Mr. Yoshi Hamato.

With a photo.

He stared at the grainy little picture before him, shifting the paper a little to get more light on the face.

_This is him._ He told himself, drinking in the indecipherable expression of the man in the tiny photo. _This is the man who fathered me._

The stranger stared back at him from the paper, but even in the black and white Adam could recognize a few things. The line of his eyebrows, the shape of his eyes. The line of his jaw. Things he saw in the mirror every morning and evening. Things that he'd never really thought about before, until the day his dad had died and he'd stared at the cold, waxy face lying in the coffin and realized _that isn't me._

People had always commented on how much like his parents Adam was, on how he had his mother's nose and mouth, his father's bearing. His mother had been proud of how much he took after his father, and only after his death had Adam realized just how much of Akio Matsuda's mannerisms he'd taken for himself. But when all the life had been drained from his father, when there was nothing left of the proud and vibrant spirit that had imbued him, Adam realized for the first time that he wasn't really there. He'd inherited his father's manners, his values and thought processes, but there was nothing in the lines of that cold face that was reflected in his own.

Adam set the other papers carefully on the table before him and leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the man in the picture.

He'd been about seven or so when he first found out Akio wasn't really his father. He'd come home from school bouncing and talking animatedly about all the projects his class had been presenting –the typical who-are-your-family assignment every kid got in elementary school. But it wasn't until he'd gotten home to their apartment that he'd thought to ask his mother the suddenly burningly important question.

"_Mommy? Why don't I have any brothers or sisters like the other kids?"_

_His mother smiled gently at him, but instead of avoiding the question like she sometimes did when she got that expression, she answered him in a loving tone._

"_Because your father cannot have children. You will never have any brothers or sisters. But you will always have us."_

He'd been too young at the time to understand all the implications of that confession, but eventually he'd hit the age where he'd learned where babies actually came from and at the time he was pretty much too smart for his own good. So he'd confronted his mother again.

"_Mom, where did I come from?"_

_His mother hesitated, raising an elegant eyebrow in confusion. He felt himself blushing and plowed forward in a rush._

"_Remember when I was little and you told me that dad couldn't have kids? That includes me, right? So where did I come from?"_

_She paused, a strange look on her face that Adam had never seen before. But before he could ask she sighed, and faced him with a solemn expression._

"_You were conceived before I met your father, and when I found out I was pregnant with you I went to the elders. At the time your father was in America, and he had requested a wife be found for him. Since he had just discovered that he could not have children and I had no husband but a child on the way, the elders decided we should marry. You were born a few months later, and we have never regretted it."_

That had been the end of the conversation. When he'd gotten older and occasionally wondered about the man whose sperm had created him, his mother had simply refused to talk about him. His father had refused to acknowledge the issue at all. It wasn't until a few months after his father's death and Adam's revival of interest in his biological father that his mother had finally relented and told him a name. When pressed, she admitted only that she had not seen Hamato Yoshi since that night, and that about twenty years earlier she'd heard a rumor that he might have immigrated to New York City.

It was all he'd had to go on, but it had been enough to make a start. And now after almost a year of searching, he had something more substantial than just a name.

He traced a finger around the edges of the photocopied picture, wondering just how much distortion the process had added to the original photograph. Was it the blurring of the ink that made the man look vaguely uncomfortable, as if his clothes didn't fit right or he didn't really want to have his picture taken? Was it the loss of clarity that made the jaw line so similar to the one he'd shaved that morning, the eyes and ears to the ones Jenna had kissed the night before? Or was he imagining something that wasn't really there, in his desperation to have _something?_ Adam couldn't tell.

But it was him, and not some other Yoshi Hamato. He knew that much. The village listed as point of origin was the same as on his mother's records, and after months of staring at old records his gut told him the picture was truth.

Carefully, holding his breath as if the picture would vanish if he breathed too hard, he picked up the pile of photocopies again. Page after page, he carefully thumbed through the information and laid the ones that seemed most important out on the table. The immigration record with the photograph. The petition for naturalization with an address that he might be able to follow up on, since the date was more recent than the other records. Another form listing an immigrant assistance organization that might have more recent information. And the certificate of marriage abroad.

Adam swallowed. There was no reason for him to be so… cold at the sight of that second name, he chided himself. His mother had told him that Mr. Hamato had no idea he existed. The man would have had no reason not to marry this Ms. Shen Tang, and his parents had enjoyed over twenty-eight years of marriage before his father's unexpected death last March. They had loved each other despite their unusual meeting, and he had never doubted for a microsecond that both of them loved him. There was no reason for this news to affect him at all.

Once all the papers were laid out carefully on the table he'd commandeered, he breathed a disappointed sigh.

None of the information was more recent than about twenty years ago, and he knew from previous courthouse and Municipal Archive searches that there was no local death certificate on file. Either Mr. Hamato had moved from the city long ago, or he'd completely vanished into thin air.

* * *

He was fit, the woman noted, eyeing the man covertly as she wandered by with an armful of papers, but not overly so. He had a long musculature to him that suggested a swimmer, but there had been some obvious weight-training in the upper body area. His tone suggested the kind of man who had been extremely athletic in school but had started to train less vigorously as the real world set in. So while he was definitely in shape, the man in front of her was almost certainly not a trained ninja.

She stayed away from him, carefully only filing papers that would let her maintain line of sight as she worked. Ever since she'd overheard Kath talking about the man, she'd become exceptionally helpful with his case. Kath thought she was crushing on him, since he was sort of cute in a very Asian kind of way and the other woman had nastily pointed out the wedding ring on his hand. She had shrugged, and continued with her work. His looks weren't what interested her, or her master.

It was the name he was searching for that had caught her attention a few weeks ago, and his claim to be a relative that kept her watching. The Foot Clan had combed through the courthouse and archives years ago looking for the same information this man had asked for, and every item meticulously photocopied for the clan records and then hidden or destroyed. None of the items had information that the Foot had been able to use to find the hated freaks or their master, but after yet another disastrous encounter with them her master had ordered that the information be "found" for the man in the hopes that his search might produce something they had missed.

After weeks of nagging, she'd finally succeeded in weaseling the young man's name out of Kath, and she'd passed it on her master the week before. She had no doubt Adam Matsuda's entire life history was being scrutinized this very moment. Photo surveillance had already been matched with the old records well enough to suggest some truth to the man's claim. If he really was a relative of the hated Hamato Yoshi and managed to find him, then the clan either had a new way to track them, or had discovered a whole new bargaining chip in their never-ending war against the freaks.

He didn't seem to notice her hovering at all, and she felt her lips curve in disdain.

Definitely not a ninja.


	2. Chapter 2

_Just a note to avoid confusion. I am not accidentally switching name orders around –this is deliberate. Adam was raised an American, so he tends to use the personal name first followed by the family name. However his mother was born and raised in Japan, so she tends to use the family name first, then the personal name._

_Honestly, I feel sorry for his mother. The entire time I was writing this I had this one song stuck in my head, and now I think it's her theme song: Behind Those Eyes (you lie) by 3 Doors Down._

_Disclaimer: I do not own the TMNT, for which they are probably very grateful._

* * *

Tomomi watched silently from the corner of her eye as her son prowled her small apartment, most of her attention on the familiar act of making tea for them, but unable to resist the combined forces of motherly instincts and ninja training. Adam had something to tell her. She could see that he was excited, but his hesitation to say anything told her more clearly than words what it was.

He had found something.

Calmly, ignoring the sudden cold that had seized her bones and the tightness in her heart, she removed the kettle from the heat and moved to pull down two teacups. Her mind raced over the possibilities as she poured the tea, examining and discarding possibilities almost before she realized they were options. But when she finally turned to face her son, there was nothing more alarming in her expression than a small, loving smile.

He smiled back, completely unaware of the turmoil she was in.

"Thanks."

She nodded slightly, indicating the small kitchen table with her head before moving serenely over to a seat. She was a ninja, trained in all the deceptive arts of the kunoichi. That early training showed through in the grace and precision of her movements, particularly when she was upset. It was a failing that she had never been able to correct in her American life, no matter how often Akio had remarked on the informality of their adopted country. Fortunately, her son had never quite made the connection between her movement and emotion, although it was probably because she and Akio had made the conscious choice not to train him as a ninja or to let him know the truth of his heritage.

"How is Jenna?" She asked softly once he'd taken a sip of his tea.

"Jenna's fine, I think." Adam answered her once he'd carefully set the teacup down on its saucer again. "She'd been kind of weird lately. I think it's work getting to her again, but she hasn't told me exactly what happened yet."

Tomomi raised an eyebrow, inviting him to continue.

"She yelled at me for forgetting to buy oranges and lettuce when they weren't even on the shopping list, and then she nearly mugged me for the other half of my chocolate bar yesterday."

Tomomi quickly throttled the sudden hope that seized her, rationalizing away the admittedly minor incidents as simple signs that something was gnawing on her daughter-in-law's mind. And yet… motherly instinct rose in her, suggesting a possibility she didn't dare voice.

If Jenna was pregnant at last… Tomomi adored her daughter-in-law almost as much as her son did, and dearly wanted a grandchild. Preferably several, to be the family she'd always ached to give her son and husband despite Akio's infertility. It had been hard on all of them while Adam was growing up, without extended family to help or even admit to existing. If the clan elders had not given them special names to fill in on the immigration forms, then her poor child would probably have become suspicious that his parents had emerged from thin air. As it was she had nearly died from the strain when Adam had asked to see her and Akio's immigration papers.

"She may not understand it herself yet. Sometimes being a woman is more difficult than you would expect." She said instead, allowing herself a gentle smile.

Adam snorted. "You never yelled at me for forgetting to buy oranges and lettuce."

She laughed softly. "That's because I did all the shopping. Your father knew better than to interfere with his dinner."

She stopped there, struggling to stay composed as the enormous, yawning abyss of her loss beckoned her, trying to consume her. Their marriage may have been arranged out of convenience by the clan elders, but it had not taken long for deep affection and then love to manifest between her and Akio.

Her son let out a shaky sigh, forcing a weak smile onto his face. "Yeah. I remember."

Tomomi smiled faintly at him, masking her agony. Akio… She had not deserved such a man. He had been everything. A loving husband, a doting father, a devoted friend, a wise mentor, and an excellent ninja. When their little band had made the painful realization that they were all that was left of their clan, he had become their new leader for a time, and her entire world.

Rather than answer her son's observation and seeing the pain in his face at the reminder of what they had lost, she took another calming sip of tea, trying not to think of all the times she had sat at this same table with Akio after a long day at the post office.

"Your Aunt Naoko called yesterday." She said to break the silence. "She has a friend she would like you to talk to about the college."

Adam blinked, pausing with his teacup halfway to his lips. "Uh…"

"Full sentences, Adam." She chided gently.

He took a hurried sip and shook his head. "I'd rather not, mom. I'm not really an advisor and she…"

He trailed off under her steady gaze.

"I'll give her a call." He said grudgingly.

She smiled, and made a mental note to have Naoko grill him on proper behavior. They had made a point of raising Adam to be a normal American boy as much as possible for his own safety, but there were some parts of his heritage that they just couldn't bring themselves to ignore.

"How was work today?" She inquired after another sip, watching him fishing around for a way to bring up the topic she knew he so dearly wanted to talk about.

"Actually, I had today off. Remember?"

She forced another faint smile, what was left of her heart sinking. "Oh yes. University holiday. I had forgotten."

He nodded, looking mildly concerned. Tomomi wanted to swear. She wasn't normally so forgetful, and not even age had impaired her memory that much. She knew it was stress. Stress from fear and worry about what her son might find of her past because of her mistake, and from struggling with her consuming loneliness and depression from life without Akio.

"I got a call from the woman who's been helping me this morning. They finally found some of the files."

She didn't want to know what he'd found. She didn't want to know if her single, grief-maddened slip of the tongue had allowed her determined son to find the answers she'd spent the last thirty years trying to hide from him. And yet… She had to know. She'd been consoling herself with the hope he wouldn't find anything for so long that her curiosity was insatiable. She had to know whether he had found something valid or not, something that would bring the past crashing down on their doorsteps in a hail of smoke bombs and shuriken.

_Akio, please forgive me._

Her silent prayer went unheeded as it had every time since she'd first let the name of Adam's birth father slip by accident in her grief, and she was surprised at how composed her voice was.

"What did they find?"

Her son's eyes betrayed his excitement as he reached down beside the table, and carefully produced a small pile of papers that he handled with a reverence that made her already sunken heart vanish completely.

"These." He laid two pieces of paper on the table in front of her. He pointed to the first one, an official record with a format so familiar that it made the hair on the back of her neck stand upright. "One of those immigration forms you showed me. But look." He tapped the corner square needlessly, for her attention was already riveted. "There's a picture."

Helplessly, Tomomi reached out, gently touching the edge of the blurry black and white box. Hamato Yoshi. He was older in this picture. Hardly surprising since it had been taken nearly ten years after her last memory of him on the night of Adam's conception. But not even the distortions introduced by bad photocopying and thirty years distance could change the familiar line of that jaw or the shape of the eyes of the man in the grainy little picture. That same jawline was set in concentration now, those gentle eyes studying every imperfection in the photo between them. The same eyes that had shone so brightly every Christmas morning when her son had come running in to jump on his parent's bed to wake them up.

Unbidden came images from a childhood she'd nearly forgotten. Laughing as she was tackled to the ground by a friend at the feet of the Ancient One's students in the garden. Teasing her friend Ayoko-chan when she caught the other girl sneaking glances at handsome Mashimi-san and Yoshi-san over her rice. Watching intently as Hamato-senpai demonstrated a new move for the kunoichi in training. And a face in the dark, puling off his mask and leaning over her so she could see the shadow of his smile by the light of the moon in the darkness of the Japanese countryside.

All too aware that her son was watching her intently, she silently reached for the second page. Adam slid it along the table, the heavy paper making a faint hissing noise on the worn wood.

She didn't need to read the English or the Japanese to know what this document was. The graceful characters at the bottom of the page bored into her eyes, drilling past carefully erected walls and barriers to connect solidly with more painful memories.

Tang Shen.

_The paper shook in Tomomi's hands as she stared at the graceful characters. Tetsuya. Sadako. Dead. And now two more. Two more treasured faces from her past, gone. Saki had killed them, as surely as he had killed the rest of their clan. Shen had been murdered in her own home and Yoshi kidnapped for some more personal revenge… _

"_Tomo-chan."_

_She looked up into Akio's face, and saw the fear and worry in his eyes. He had already seen the little weekly that they used as a coded message board for contacting the other clan members. He knew about the deaths already, and he was as terrified as she was. She melted into his arms, sobbing into his strong shoulder._

_They were the last of the Kurama Clan. Only the five of them were left, and Tomomi knew if her fallen friends had said even one false word their days were numbered…_

"He married, mom." Adam said softly.

She tore her eyes from the paper, meeting his gaze as his voice jarred out of the unwanted memory. She could see that he knew the certificate had upset her. But he didn't know that she knew about Tang Shen. That she and Akio had deliberately not contacted them directly when they arrived in the city because they didn't want Yoshi to know Akio's son was actually his, or Shen to be hurt by the visible resemblance between Adam and her husband. He didn't know about the murders, how close they'd all come to being slaughtered in their beds. He thought she was upset about Hamato Yoshi marrying at all.

Seppuku was looking very attractive right now.

"There was no reason why he shouldn't have." She said calmly, still amazed at how together her voice was. She supposed she should thank Mrs. Rambaudi for that. Two years of listening to the cantankerous landlady rant through the thin apartment walls while trying not to count the hundreds of ways she had been trained to kill people like her had given Tomomi the voice control of a Hollywood sound studio.

Adam looked at her for a moment, a slight frown marring his handsome features. She met his gaze calmly, offering a faint smile. He hesitated a moment, then asked quietly.

"Did… you know her? This Ms. Shen Tang?"

Was it possible to die from hiding too much?

She shook her head. "No."

He let out a sigh as she reached for her tea again. She needed the familiar reassurance badly. "I didn't think so, but I figured it was worth a shot. Do you think Aunt Naoko or one of the others might have known her?"

Tomomi sipped her tea. Thankfully she had picked a relaxing blend. "I don't think so."

"Hmm. I guess I could always ask." He mused reluctantly, and grimaced.

She almost smiled. The others would not give him any answers, and he knew it. While the clan members who'd been sent to America as scouts maintained only minimal contact with one another to keep from attracting unwanted attention, it didn't mean they never saw each other. Adam and Watanabe Masao's children all recognized them as "aunts" and "uncles," even if there was no actual relation other than being "friends from the old country." Tomomi had been in unusually close contact with them since Akio's death had brought Adam's sudden interest in genealogy to light, and she had been keeping them all appraised of his progress or lack of it in his search for answers.

"It couldn't hurt." She calmly agreed.

She knew why he was searching, and it physically hurt her to deny him the real information he was looking for. That sense of self, of being a part of something larger and more meaningful than being just another lonely individual. Something more than just another number. She knew, because she felt it herself, as did the others. Only the fact Adam didn't know what it was that bothered him so much had allowed him to suppress it, to accept and live a normal American life. Tomomi had compromised so much of herself, lost so much and been hiding for so long that she no longer felt fully human. She was a half-life, a shadow of her former self, clinging to shredded remnants of a woman who had once been something, a part of something more.

The entire clan could tell Adam was a born ninja, and had noticed the signs in Adam early. They'd tried enrolling him in sports programs, but while the camaraderie of sports could help cover the hole, they couldn't fill it. Adam fallen in love with gymnastics young and had thrived in the sport. Even now he worked part-time as an assistant coach at his old gym three nights a week. But in the end it hadn't been enough, and he'd taken up wrestling and swim team in high school. In college, he had tried boxing and later met Jenna in fencing club.

"I was thinking about trying the old address to see if maybe the superintendent might still have some information they'd be willing to share, but it's kind of a long shot." Adam said as she slid the marriage certificate back to him. "I don't know if their old building would even have the records anymore. The latest form is dated to about twenty years ago. I'm hoping he didn't leave the city."

Tomomi knew that the Foot Clan had destroyed or hidden the police records tied to the murders of Tang Shen, Maeda Tetsuya, and his new wife Yoshida Sadako. Hamato Yoshi had been declared missing, presumed dead by the police since they found enough of his blood on the floor by his wife to sustain to a small child. It followed that the Foot would have destroyed any courthouse and apartment records as well –they had the power and ability. And after twenty years, even if the Foot hadn't destroyed the records the superintendent might have. It was probably safe enough for him to check.

So why had he been able to find these…?

Her blood stopped flowing as her heart turned to ice. They knew.

"It is possible he left." She said simply. "I don't know."

The Foot Clan had somehow found out about her son's search, and allowed him to find the records for some reason.

"Yeah." Her son sighed, reaching for his tea again, the papers safely secured in his bag again. "But I have no idea how to find him if he did leave. It was hard enough to get these."

He was being watched by the Foot even now. She knew it. Deep in the hidden part of her tattered self that let her sense danger, an alarm was going off that she'd been ignoring since his arrival at her door. She didn't know if the Foot were searching for the remnants of her clan or curious about Adam's connection to Hamato Yoshi. But it didn't matter. If she begged her son to stop the search at this late a date, he would get suspicious. And if he actually stopped, the chance that the Foot were merely curious and would leave him alone when he didn't find anything useful would end.

Panic gripped her as she watched Adam lean back in his chair, turning over ideas in his mind. She wanted to grab and shake him, to scream and clutch him to her like the little boy she'd once carried so she could lock him away from the world, forever safe.

Tomomi immediately chided herself. She was a kunoichi, no matter how many years had passed since her last mission. She knew better to let the mother in her take control when the ninja should be. There was nowhere safe anymore. The city had been rebuilt after the alien invasion, but with tainted funds from the murderer Oroku Saki himself. The Foot Clan were everywhere, even if they were not as strong as they had been once. And where the Foot wasn't, the street gangs, the mafia, even ordinary criminals were their eyes and ears. The only surprise should be that he hadn't been found already.

"There was an immigrant assistance organization listed on one of the forms, but I don't recognize the name. Have you heard of the Golden Road Organization?"

She frowned a little, grateful to have finally been asked a question she could answer honestly. "I don't remember that one, no."

She had known a showdown was coming for years now. They all had. The Foot Clan had vowed to destroy the Kurama Clan for refusing to join them twenty-three years ago, and hunted them down. There were only five of them left, and all of them old, but the Foot's brutal slaughter of the last Silent Rain School master a few years ago had shown them that the Foot Clan's memories were long. They had been planning for something like this for years, just in case.

Because even though they had chosen not to train Adam for his own safety and Masao's children because of lack of ability, they were still ninja of the Kurama Clan, and Tomomi was still a mother. If it came down to a fight, old or not, she was not going to let anyone touch her son without killing her first.

They needed more information. She knew where to get it, but she would have to be excruciatingly careful since there was probably someone watching her now. There were three different Foot members living in her building, all low level soldiers and about as intelligent as her windowstill. She had long ago discovered they tended to talk Foot business over a few beers on Saturday nights, and there were at least three ways for a skilled kunoichi to overhear what they were saying without being detected. It was one of the reasons she'd refused to move after Akio died.

A pang seized her heart at the thought of her lost husband, but she smiled softly at her son as he gazed into the distance, muttering softly to himself as Akio had often done while thinking. With Akio gone, it was just Adam now. Her little boy.

No one was touching her son. Grown man or not, he was still her little boy, and she had the skills and the means to do whatever it took to keep him safe from her past. It was because of her weakness that he was in danger, and she would do whatever she needed to rectify the mistake. It hurt to lie to him so much, but not nearly as much as losing him would.

Tomomi had stayed in practice over the years as well as it had been possible to do so without arousing suspicion. If she had to, she was reasonably certain she could still hold her own in a fight, especially against the Foot if they didn't overwhelm her too badly. There were few people more likely to be underestimated than an old immigrant woman, and her occasional encounters with them over the years around her building had proved that the Foot Clan were sloppy fighters at best.

Her calm restored by her reaffirmation of purpose, she smiled faintly to herself, and took another sip of her tea.


	3. Chapter 3

_For anyone interested, the honorific goof that Adam makes is one that a coworker of mine says his son does a lot. I took two years of Japanese in high school, but that's been way too long now and I remember almost nothing, so that's why I just wrote the whole thing in English. If I blatantly goofed on the honorifics though, let me know._

_Disclaimer: I do not own the TMNT, for which they are probably very grateful._

* * *

Adam glared at the building in front of him, willing it to wither into ashes and resurrect the one he wanted in its place. But it ignored him as only stone and mortar can, and sat there in brooding silence, taunting him.

It was new construction at the old address, a little plaque by the door stating that it had been built after the destruction of the old complex with donations from Mr. Saki Oroku. Even so, he had tried talking to the superintendent, and had been rudely told in at least two languages to go stick his head somewhere obscene. He supposed he could try the city offices, but since the old building had been incinerated during the invasion Adam doubted that the aliens would have left much paperwork behind for him to search anyway.

"Officious bastard." He muttered to himself, still annoyed at the superintendent. "May his manhood get stuck in a pencil sharpener."

Feeling somewhat guilty that the cursing was making him feel better, he stopped when he started down the sidewalk. His dad would have smacked him across the street if he had heard him being so disrespectful of his elders. Despite his age and stifling job in middle management, his dad had been amazingly fit and possessed a phenomenal speed that made even the lightest slap sting for hours…

Adam swallowed harshly, blinking back the tears stinging at his eyes. This wasn't a particularly good neighborhood to be getting sentimental in. There wasn't much graffiti, but the general atmosphere was not inviting by any means. This area hadn't been hit that hard by the aliens a few years ago, but by the number of still-boarded buildings and similar small plaques on generic-looking apartment blocks it looked like this particular street had been ripped up pretty well.

Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder. Not generally something you wanted to do in the Big Apple, but the hairs on the back of his neck were standing upright again. Nothing. Not even a flickering shadow or another pedestrian averting their gaze. But the feeling of being watched was still there.

He huffed a little in annoyance, rubbing the back of his neck as he came to the intersection. It had to be the fight this morning throwing his senses out of whack. He'd had the feeling of being watched ever since Jenna had stomped out. He didn't know what was wrong with her lately. She'd been… off. Flipping out over things she normally wouldn't care about, but she denied vehemently that there was anything wrong. And then this morning she'd shoved him away and left her breakfast on the table after he'd told her about his plans for the morning.

The next intersection wasn't particularly familiar, but the street sign was. A few blocks up and a street over was Ito's Oriental Market. The part grocery, part knick-knack shop had been opened years ago by a friend of his parents, Mr. Katsumi Ito, and because his parents had loaned him money to get the shop established Adam always got a discount. He paused, debating whether to swing by Ito's or to go home and make dinner. He always loved wandering around the Market and talking to "Uncle" Katsumi. Ito-san was the closest thing he'd ever had to a grandfather.

On the other hand, it was a Saturday, so Aunt Naoko was probably there too.

Maybe she wouldn't be there today? Sometimes she picked up a weekend shift at the florist she clerked at during the week.

Somehow he doubted it. After Jenna yelled and walked out on him this morning, he would have sworn he saw his luck walk out with her.

He sighed, feeling the dreaded weight of his promise to his mother weighing on him.

"It's been _such_ a stellar day." He muttered to himself. "Might as well get this over with now."

Of his various "relatives," Aunt Naoko was easily his least favorite. He couldn't deny that she was a good person. She did all Uncle Katsumi's housework and helped him in the Market ever since that robber had emptied half a clip into the old man's leg and left him permanently lame. But she was always lecturing him about something, and when the topic turned to love she could get downright vicious. She'd married a soldier stationed near her hometown as a young woman, and after seventeen years of marriage and three children he'd dumped her for a younger, American-born wife.

But at least Aunt Naoko's lectures were a known evil. If Jenna didn't tell him what was wrong soon, he was going to go crazy.

The feeling of being watched faded a little at the intersection, and by the time he reached the short side street where Ito's Oriental Market was located Adam had braced himself to face his aunt. He smiled faintly when he caught sight of the touristy red painted storefront of the Market. He could see tiny Uncle Katsumi just inside at the counter.

The bell jangled cheerfully as he pushed the door open, and Adam inhaled the confused mixture of scents the shop always boasted happily as he glanced around. He was the only customer at the moment, but probably not for long.

"Hi, Uncle Katsumi."

"Matsuda-kun." The old man smiled warmly as Adam strolled over to the cash register, glancing up at the magnificent kites hanging from the low ceiling. He wondered idly how his uncle had gotten them up there. Probably his one employee, Ellen Cheong. Katsumi Ito was barely five feet tall, encumbered with a stiff and withered leg that tended to stick out to the side because the knee didn't work properly, and had the weather-beaten look of an old farmhand. Although he had never seen a trace of gray in the thick black hair, his uncle had been "fifty-five" for about nine years now and Adam was almost certain there was dye involved.

"How's business?"

"Eh." A knobby hand made a so-so rocking motion. "Slow today."

Adam blinked, but switched to Japanese. His parents had stopped speaking Japanese to him when he entered kindergarten to make the school transition a little easier. But they had been determined that Adam would learn their native tongue, and for years it was the only language he'd been allowed to speak to his "aunts" and "uncles." He'd hated it as a kid, but he could appreciate the effort now –his job for the past few years had been as a translator between the college and one of their sister schools in Japan.

"Is Naoko-san here? Mother said she wanted me to talk to a friend of hers."

"She is getting more soba from the back." His uncle nodded toward the door leading to the small storage room. "She will be happy to see you. It has been a while."

Only years of practice allowed Adam to restrain the snort of derision at the comment, and he bowed slightly instead. Uncle Katsumi smiled knowingly, wizened brown eyes sparkling.

"Be careful. She may get the idea you don't like her."

"How do you do that?" Adam demanded, dropping into English in exasperation. His uncle raised an eyebrow, and he hurriedly switched back to Japanese again. "You always know what I'm thinking. I thought only parents were allowed to do that."

Katsumi chuckled. "No. You show too much on your face."

"I do not. Jenna's always complaining about it."

"Your wife needs to observe more then."

Adam groaned. "Ito-san, you're lucky you never married."

His uncle's expression shifted from bemused affection to what Adam had always thought of as his "adult-mode." Solemn, wise, and concerned, he morphed from being every little kid's fun uncle and best friend to a wise old grandfather. "What happened?"

Adam shook his head. "I wish I knew."

His uncle nodded wisely, but the door rang again before the older man could offer his advice. Adam moved away from the register toward the crowded shelves as he heard his uncle greet the newcomer in lightly accented English. "Good afternoon, Miss Ang."

Adam ignored the conversation in favor of wandering the narrow aisles. The shelves were full, tightly packed with imported foods with bilingual labels. Interspersed between these were figurines and incense, barrels of odd looking roots and leaves, and assorted curiosities that caught the tourists once they had been attracted by the cheerful red storefront. Along the wall by the entrance was a glass topped freezer case with a selection of seafood Uncle Katsumi got at a discount from the docks through a deal with Uncle Masao. Less odorous needs were addressed by the rack of newsletters by the register and a small collection of books on the back wall.

He ducked into the tea section. There were an amazing number of brands clustered on the shelves, and Adam figured he might as well pick up the blend his mother liked so much to have on hand for her next rare visit.

It wasn't on the shelf where it normally was. Had they run out…?

"Ito? Are you out of mother's tamaryokucha again?" He called over the shelves when he heard the door jangle again as Miss Ang showed herself out.

"Second shelf down, next to the jasmine."

"_Adam Takeru Matsuda!"_

Adam cringed as the sharp edge of Aunt Naoko's voice cut through every layer of cloth and flesh to hit him straight in the bones. He'd swear that she had knives in her voice. He'd known she was going to lecture him again about something –but what had her so angry?

"Good afternoon, Naoko-san." He said in his most polite, formal voice as he edged out of the aisle into the center walkway where his uncle could see him. He knew better than to let her confront him in an enclosed area. Aunt Naoko didn't bite or slap, but she had a glare that would cause an army to back over a cliff. He didn't want to make things worse by accidentally knocking something over.

The woman before him was an inch or so taller than his mother, but leaner and with the type of thin musculature that put Adam in mind of fitness instructor who'd been practicing for so long her muscles had become leather. Her face was plain enough that she would never be a beauty, but the anger flushing her cheeks inspired a sort of primeval terror in Adam that most people left behind in kindergarten.

"So you only show respect when yelled at now?" She hissed at him. Adam blinked in confusion, but kept his mouth shut. "Your own family is not worth the respect you show a dog?"

"Naoko-san." His uncle said gently, reaching for his cane as he slid from his seat. "Is this really necessary?"

"I will not have my nephew disrespecting his elders, Ito-_san_." She answered a little more calmly, placing a slight emphasis on the honorific that puzzled Adam. Why would she do that when he was the one she was upset with…?

Oh shit.

He'd forgotten the honorific when he'd asked his uncle where the tea was. If he'd done that at work it could be considered a major insult and cost him his job. He really had screwed up this time.

Adam glanced pleadingly at his uncle, knowing Ito-san could see he'd realized his mistake and silently begging him to intervene before he was browbeat into the floor. But his uncle spread his hands and did a half shrug, and Adam guiltily resigned himself to suffering through the lecture he probably deserved.

It was something he sometimes had problems with when switching between such different languages. When speaking English, he called his assorted "relatives" by their first names like any American kid. Uncle Masao, Aunt Naoko, etc. Whereas in Japanese it was the less familiar last name followed by "san" –with the notable exception of his aunt, who was always Naoko because she went spastic when he tried to use her married or maiden name. But unlike English, where he was allowed to drop the mister or missus if they were on good terms, dropping an honorific in Japanese was bad juju.

"…like an irresponsible _American…_" Somehow Naoko made the label she and his parents had worked so hard for and were so proud of sound like it was dripping with slime. "You are a Matsuda! Would you dishonor your mother in such a manner? Your wife? Your father's memory?"

Adam wasn't the only one that cringed at the mention of Akio. His uncle winced in sympathy and leaned on his cane, a sturdy knob-topped affair he'd carved himself after the shooter had destroyed his leg. "Naoko-san…"

His aunt continued, apparently ignoring Ito's plea as she continued to tear into Adam.

"Do you think that because you are young you own the world? That you can forget the people who protected you? Who cared for you as a child and taught you to make your way? Do you really think that you are so capable that you could have survived without us? Matsuda-san, you are a fool!"

Uh oh. She called him by the formal "san," not the more affectionate "kun." She really _was_ mad, and not just trying to work her frustrations with her estranged family out on him like she sometimes did.

He was going to be here for a while.

"There is no excuse for such disrespect! You have been taught better than this..."

Adam looked past his aunt, keeping his head somewhat bowed in apologetic humility as she ranted at him. He resisted the urge to sigh. It wasn't worth getting upset with her, even if his uncle didn't really care about the issue. Ito-san had returned to his chair and was reviewing what looked like an inventory report, keeping half an ear open for his housekeeper and assistant in case she addressed him again.

Hmm. From this angle the kites on the ceiling trailed past her towards the supply room door, creating a strange, multi-colored halo effect above his aunt's head. If he squinted it almost looked as if her perm was on fire. He shifted his gaze downwards quickly. The mental image of Aunt Naoko with flaming hair and righteous anger was both entertaining and too disturbing to contemplate.

His eyes fell on the small foreign-language publication rack was just behind his aunt to the left, and Adam could just make out the titles of a few of the imported Japanese magazines and some of the local bilingual publications. The eclectic little Japanese weekly that had been on his parents' table since he was a baby was there too, sitting between Korean and Chinese newsletters. He'd learned to read Japanese from that thing.

His throat closed briefly, and for a moment it was hard to breathe. Every Saturday morning for as long as he could remember his father had scanned the opinion page of the brightly colored paper as he ate, his mother looking over his shoulder and commenting on whatever issue was currently consuming the city's Japanese-American population. Sometimes they had invited him over to read with them, explaining unfamiliar kanji whenever he got confused.

Wait…

The paper! It had been around _forever_. He could check their archives. There was a chance -a very small one, true, but still a chance- that Mr. Yoshi Hamato or his wife might have been mentioned at some point. It wasn't uncommon for new immigrants to be listed in the weekly as a sort of formal welcome, and frequently when news was slow they ran short pieces on various people in the Japanese-American community. They'd even approached his dad once, although his dad had respectfully declined an interview.

"Matsuda-kun!"

Adam reflexively straightened, snapping his gaze from the rack and back to his aunt. He kept his head bowed slightly in respectful humility, trying to hide his sudden excitement. She glared at him for a moment, and he could feel the force of her stare boring holes in his skull. But after a minute or so, she seemed to calm a little, and her tone was less stinging than before –although the words were not.

"If you will not listen then at least do me the honor of _pretending_ to do so."

Oops.

He bowed slightly. "Sorry Naoko-san. I was distracted."

"That is no excuse." She snapped. "Such lack of discipline…"

"Naoko-san." His uncle said abruptly, eyeing the front window as a touristy-looking young couple approached the door. "Customers."

His aunt scowled darkly, and with a significant look at Adam that promised a return to the topic of his transgressions, retrieved the small pile of packaged noodles she'd been stocking. Adam took the opportunity to slip back into the tea aisle with a sigh of relief as the door jangled again.

The weekly newsletter. Why hadn't he thought of it before? Yes, he wasn't likely to find anything, but he hadn't been doing so well following the conventional routes either. Maybe it would be the break he'd been looking for.

Spotting his mother's favorite tea brand where his uncle had specified, he quickly grabbed a box and started toward the front. He figured he could ask Uncle Katsumi if he had the phone number for the paper while he checked out, since the Market had regular advertisements in the weekly.

He was about three feet from the register when he realized he'd forgotten his promise to his mother to ask Aunt Naoko about her friend.

Adam groaned, and retreated back to the aisles to wait until the tourists had left.

* * *

The sound of the door clicking shut behind Adam was the only noise in Ito's Oriental Market for several long moments as the two people continued their tasks. Naoko firmly kept her eyes on the fish case she was wiping down, hyper aware of Ito-san's presence to her right, calmly marking down order notes as he reviewed the quick inventory she'd done that morning.

"Are they still there?" He asked her softly, his eyes never lifting from his notes as he broke the strangely calm silence.

She kept her eyes on the glass she was cleaning, her strokes steady and practiced as she efficiently cleaned the smudged fingerprints off. Between wipes, she could see the faint reflections of the buildings across and down the street, their clarity somewhat obscured by the cloudy day. There was a dark flicker between rooflines, a good two alleys down from the bright blue splotch of Adam's receding coat, followed by another.

"Yes." She matched his tone, struggling to keep her voice even. She'd never been very good with the more subtle arts of the kunoichi. Before she'd left her old clan to marry Dale, her teachers had concentrated on training her in hand-to-hand, recognizing that she was unlikely to be very efficient at seducing or misleading her targets. As a confirmed tomboy, Naoko had not realized how useful some of those scorned arts were until she married.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ito-san nod almost imperceptibly.

"How many?"

She sprayed some more cleaner on the glass, moving closer to the front window as she worked along the case. Another flicker on the rooftops. She checked the reflection of the next building, and waited, still working methodically.

"Three. All following Matsuda-kun."

Ito-san sighed softly at her near-whisper. Naoko swallowed faintly, but studiously kept her eyes on her work. The Kurama Clan had graciously allowed her to consider Adam and the four Watanabe children to be her nieces and nephews when her own children stopped speaking to her, and in many ways they were the only family she had left. The idea of so many ninja following Adam terrified her. Ever since Tomomi had called to warn them of the possibility he was being watched, Naoko had needed to fight the urge to hunt down the nearest Foot member and torture them into revealing their hideout so she could deal with the problem at the source.

Ito-san reluctantly set his pen aside and reached for his cane.

"I'm calling Tomomi."


	4. Chapter 4

_I'd like to extend a very special thanks to my first reviewer, Nineteenth Souljah! You really made my day!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the TMNT, for which they are probably very grateful._

* * *

Adam stared down at the files stacked in front of him as the echo of high heels on the stairs faded away. Four years of weekly newsletters were tucked neatly into beige file folders on the massive old table, waiting. He could feel his certainty ebbing away as he looked at the slowly avalanching piles.

Maybe he should have thought this through a little more.

He reached for the first file, dated to January of the year Mr. Hamato's immigration forms stated he'd arrived in the States, and flipped it open. Four thick weeklies slid onto the scarred wooden table. He wrinkled his nose. Great. Maybe he should have just requested a year or few months at a time. He only had few hours today before he had to go help coach the evening gymnastics class.

Maybe he could just skim? He eyed the stacks doubtfully, hoping he wouldn't have to take the secretary's offer of a dictionary. Kanji wasn't really easy to skim, especially since the weekly had a habit of using more than just the official characters. He hadn't realized that so many of them would be longer than a few pages.

Only one way to find out. It wasn't like Jenna was waiting for him. She had a late meeting today, and they'd agreed it was her turn to cook dinner on nights he was coaching. She wasn't expecting him until nine, and given her fascination with India right now, he was betting dinner would be curry.

Adam knew his search was wearing at Jenna's patience, and Aunt Naoko had already made his relatives' position clear. It had taken two weeks to get the courage to go back to Ito's Oriental Market after she'd boiled him alive for "dishonoring his father's memory." But… he had to know.

It was like there was a gnawing ache inside him, fueling him to keep searching for answers to the questions he didn't know how to ask. Why he was the way he was, and what that meant. He had to know where he'd come from, what had happened to the man who'd given him life. His mother at least seemed to understand that much. While she never offered him suggestions and he knew that she privately wanted him to stop searching, she had never passed judgment and encouraged him to keep her informed of what progress he made, if any.

Let's see… _New Year celebrations… recipes… opening of the new fast food restaurant by the Shodas… announcement of twin boys born to the Shinseki family… the marriage of Joy Murasaki to Harold Eaton… fairy tale about kappas and Lord Norinaga… And the opinion page…_

It was doable, he decided reluctantly, setting aside the first newsletter and checking his watch. But he wasn't likely to finish all four years of it at this rate. He would have to remember to stop early enough to make another appointment before he left.

_New business… interview with a Mr. Taro Yamamoto… hit movie… tax increases… huh?_

Crud. Adam stared at the unfamiliar string of kanji in the middle of a short article on a church robbery. He was going to need to borrow a dictionary after all.

* * *

Isaiah slouched in the shadows of the massive cooling unit, watching the front entrance of the squat commercial building his target had entered opposite. He muffled a yawn under his mask. He'd been following the guy for five hours now, and had another three before he would be relieved. He was tired, sore, and bored stiff.

Absently, he checked the higher roofline of the building behind the one he was watching, just as he had every thirty seconds or so for the last two hours. No signal from Tsutomu. The back entrance was still clear.

He hadn't heard from Akashi yet, who was supposed to be slinking around inside the building vents to keep a visual line on the target. If the older ninja didn't report soon Isaiah was going to kill him. It was the third time he'd lost contact with him today, and the last two had been so Akashi could slip into a bathroom.

He'd been thrilled when he'd been selected for this duty, but he was seriously starting to second-guess his sanity now. After dealing with his fellow surveillance ninja for the past two weeks he was more than ready to go back to the front lines. He'd spent years trying to advance to the higher ranks, but now he wondered if he was only being considered because Akashi needed a scapegoat while he dealt with his bladder infection.

He swallowed another yawn, wondering whether he should try raising Akashi on the communication unit or wait another ten minutes. The last contact had put the target in the basement, reading through old Japanese newsletters. This news had sent Headquarters into a frenzy. They were taking no chances with this target, even though the initial surveillance had identified him as essentially useless. Someone higher up had taken an interest in him, and that was enough to have Isaiah hiding on a roof in broad daylight praying for a freak to find him.

God, he wanted a freak to find him! The sooner they did, the sooner he could stop watching the clueless metrosexual and go back to where the real action was.

He'd been part of the first American Foot squad to face the freaks –hell, he owed his recent promotion to squad leader from the experience he'd earned fighting them. He had fought them so regularly that he would swear they recognized his fighting style, if not his face. _He_ didn't recognize his face anymore, they had rearranged it so often. And if it meant he didn't have to listen to the condescending remarks of the imported Japanese ninja anymore, he'd gladly let them do it again.

Idly, he watched a white panel van rolling down the street to stop at the business next door, an office of some sort. He checked the far roofline again, keeping one eye on the front door, then glanced back at the van, and blinked.

He must be seeing things. He just couldn't be that lucky…

He was.

Somebody up there must love him.

He watched intently as the distant flame of April O'Neil's hair slid out of the driver's seat and walked around to the back of the van. He saw the passenger door open, and a moment later the black-haired bulk of Casey Jones appeared from the other side, arguing good-naturedly as he opened the back of the van. Isaiah felt his lips curve into a sly smile as a plan started clicking into place.

It was a risk, but it just might work. He'd faced the vigilante lummox often enough to have a basic idea how he thought, so if he was careful he could get the idiot curious about the target. And where Jones and the O'Neil woman went, the freaks would surely follow.

Quickly, he signaled Tsutomu. He'd need his help for this, and Akashi could just rot in whatever bathroom he'd gotten into this time.

* * *

Adam was surprised to realize he was enjoying himself. Yes, he was only about halfway through the stacks laid out for him and he was getting a headache from squinting at kanji in the dim light of the dying florescents, but the newsletters were actually an interesting read.

The stories were varied, and had covered everything that affected the specialized Japanese-American community. He'd found vaguely familiar names sprinkled throughout stories of robberies and celebrations and a birth announcement for the younger sister of his high school prom date. He'd nearly choked when he'd found a mention of his dead uncle, Ichiro Hayashi, being rushed to the hospital after receiving the news of the tsunami that wiped out his parent's village.

He checked his watch, and sighed. He'd have to leave soon if he wanted to catch the subway to the gym, but he still had time. If he could, he wanted to finish the next two months first, and then he would make another appointment to finish the rest.

And if he didn't find anything… well, he was running out of options. The last thing he wanted to do was give up, but if he didn't find some kind of clue soon he wasn't going to have a choice. When he'd tried researching the Golden Road Immigration Assistance Organization on the internet during his break yesterday, he'd discovered that they had been disbanded shortly after a fire had destroyed their headquarters. The apartment building hadn't panned out, and Mr. Hamato seemed to have vanished from the official records not long after submitting his petition for naturalization.

_Mr. Oshiro passed away due to heart failure… Parade to take route through Little Tokyo… Commissioner Reade consumed by dark wolves? _Adam reached for the dictionary for the umpteenth time, frowning at the kanji in question. _That can't be right…_

The next two were as unhelpful as every one before. But the last one had the large bold type the weekly used to catch attention screaming the headline _Serial Killer at Large._

_On Tuesday morning, the body of Maeda Tetsuya was found brutally murdered a block from his work. When police attempted to contact his widow, her body was discovered on the floor of her locked apartment later that evening. Both Maeda Tetsuya and his wife Sadako were slashed and stabbed in the heart, and police have found no sign of forced entry. Yesterday Hamato Shen was also found dead in her home with similar injuries…_

Shen? _Hamato_ Shen?! Adam snatched the dictionary up, flipping frantically through it to find the translation for the kanji he was assuming meant slashed, but there seemed to be a double meaning. A few minutes later he tossed the volume down in disgust. The kanji they'd used must be very old, since there wasn't even a listing in the dictionary he'd borrowed.

_The police have admitted that there were two blood types found at the scene, and the amount of blood found in the Hamatos' apartment was too great for one person. Shen's husband Hamato Yoshi has been reported missing, presumed dead. Police say that all three victims showed signs of resistance…_

The chair creaked as Adam sat back hard on the aging wood, staring blankly at the relentless lines of characters marching down the page.

_Hamato Yoshi… missing, presumed dead…_

He'd found him. His wild hunch in the Market had been right, but…

…_missing, presumed dead…_

Cautiously, not taking his eyes off the page in front of him, he reached for the next file. For something this big, there would have been an update in the next week's installment, and probably the next few after that…

Nothing. The Japanese-American community was terrified, waiting for the next strike from the killer –again that strange untranslatable kanji- although there were no further murders. Memorial services for the three victims were held, and there was an ongoing commentary on the opinion page about the police neglecting the murders because the victims were only blue-collar immigrant workers. No information anywhere on Hamato Yoshi, other than a statement that his body had not yet been recovered.

Adam sat perfectly still, his muscles frozen by the strange calm that had seized him while reading the follow-up articles, feeling bitter disappointment seeping through him.

It was definitely his birth father they were reporting on. How many other Mr. Yoshi Hamatos who spelled their names with exactly the same kanji and had wives named Shen could there be? If he'd been dumped in the river or any number of other grisly possible ends his body probably never would have been found no matter how hard the police looked.

No wonder he hadn't been able to find any information. For that matter, this was probably the source of the rumor his mother had admitted to vaguely remembering, and after twenty years she'd blocked out the details. Such a horrible way to go too…

His breath caught as the revelation began to sink in. His birth father had been dead for almost twenty years, and he hadn't known it. Adam would never get the chance to meet the man, to find out what he might have meant to him. He felt like he'd been orphaned all over again, his throat squeezing tight with the force of unshed tears and his stomach aching as if he'd been kicked in the gut.

Wait a minute. This wasn't right. He'd never even met the man. He shouldn't be feeling like he'd lost his father all over again…

Oh God. His father…

The metal feet of the chair screeched on the concrete floor as he shoved it roughly backwards, lurching to his feet in order to pace. He shook his head, running a hand over his face as he tried to sort out his thoughts.

How was he supposed to feel about this? Yoshi Hamato had never been more than a name on a page to him, a barely acknowledged fact that had allowed him to be brought into the world. He hadn't even learned his name until a year ago, and it wasn't until he'd first laid eyes on the tiny picture the week before that he'd had a face to put to the name. Not even the picture that had managed to make the man behind the name quite _real_. There was no logical reason for him to be so… devastated by the idea.

And yet… he let out a shaky breath. He _had _lost his father again. Not the man who'd raised him, not Akio Matsuda… he knew his father was dead, and it still hurt like Hell no matter how he tried to cover it up. But he'd lost the _hope_ of having a… link, not a father exactly but someone he could meet and find out where he'd come from, about his heritage and those parts of him that he'd suppressed so guiltily because he knew that they weren't from his mother or father. It was just like Jenna had warned him about.

Oh shit. Jenna. Dinner.

Gymnastics.

He lunged at the table, checking his watch. Okay, his luck was holding. He had enough time to get some photocopies and get to the station, maybe a little extra if the copying didn't take long.

Grabbing his bag, he swept the original article into the file with the follow-up articles and ran up the stairs. The cheerful young secretary who'd helped him earlier smiled at him, her nametag declaring in two languages that her name was Sylvia Takahashi.

"Find what you were looking for?"

Adam let out a short bark of derisive laughter. "I guess you could say that."

She looked at him a little oddly, but accepted the file he handed her without a word, and went over to the photocopier as he dug out his wallet.

Less than ten minutes later Adam was walking down the street with about fifteen minutes to spare before he had to be at the station, totally engrossed in the thick sheaf of photocopies clutched in his hands. He hiked his bag a little higher on his shoulder as he passed a white van in an alley, barely noticing when a sharp breeze rustled the papers.

* * *

It was a nice day, and Casey Jones was whistling softly to himself as he tossed in the packing blankets and straps he and April had used to secure the ornate chest and giant antique urn they'd just delivered. April was still inside as he slammed the doors shut again, finishing the paperwork for the delivery. He couldn't wait for her to finish. When she did, he had some plans for the evening.

He grinned to himself. Married life really wasn't as bad as he'd once thought it would be, at least not once he'd gotten Mikey to give him a few cooking lessons that didn't involve "bachelor chow." Spaghetti was relatively easy and looked good no matter how badly it was arranged in a plate. And if the guys stopped by later, they had learned the hard way not to bother them unless it was an emergency when the lights were off and the bedroom door was locked.

_Shnick_.

The noise was soft, almost inaudible, but so familiar that Casey spun immediately, his adrenaline surging as he mentally cursed himself for locking the tire iron into the van just now.

_Shnick._

A second shuriken whizzed past him, missing him by inches to imbed in the wooden loading crate leaning against the wall of the alley. He jumped away from the wood, following the trajectory of the shuriken to the roofline of the building across the street, and caught a glimpse of a Foot ninja retreating from the edge.

No, there were two of them. The second one was obviously watching him, just barely visible from where Casey stood, weighing a shuriken in his hand as if debating whether it was worth taking another potshot at him. Seeing he had Casey's attention, the ninja did a little half bow, and vanished.

_What the hell?_

"Oh for the love of…"

Casey's attention shifted to the mouth of the service alley the van was parked in, to where an Asian man about his age was struggling with a black shoulder bag and a stack of papers fluttering to the street. The man seemed completely oblivious to both Casey and the shuriken by his foot.

Casey stared at the man blankly for a moment as he let out a cry of frustration and started grabbing at the papers slipping through his fingers, letting the bag fall to the sidewalk. What the hell was going on? Who had the ninja been aiming for, him or the man? Or had they been aiming at them? He had fought enough ninja over the years now to know that shuriken didn't _just_ miss. Anything tossed by a trained Foot member had to be either blocked or dodged, or missed by a mile because the ninja in question had been interrupted during the throwing. And what the hell was with the bow? They _wanted_ him to see them?

After taking a moment to carefully scan the rooftops and the alley he was standing in, Casey grunted in frustration. He didn't see any sign of more ninjas, but that didn't mean anything. He was almost certain they were still there somewhere, watching. He could feel their eyes on him, and his hands were itching to grab something he could use as a weapon. But he couldn't go after them in broad daylight!

"Not in the street, not in the street…!"

The man was lunging after a paper floating in the light breeze now, trying to snatch it out of the air before it landed on the road. Casey frowned. The man could be a trap. The guy was Asian, and looked pretty fit. A Foot plant…?

_Maybe._ He thought doubtfully, eying the man. After almost five years of bashing skulls with Raph and his brothers he knew ninjas. And this guy certainly didn't move like one. Athletic, but not ninja athletic. More like gave up-on-Olympic-training athletic.

Had they been aiming at the guy?

It was probably a trap.

But why would they _bow?_ Who was this guy?

Only one way to find out…

"Need some help?"

The man snatched the paper he was chasing out of the air and spun to face Casey, startled. Casey watched him as he did the immediate size-up he got from all New Yorkers who saw a six foot behemoth in a muscle shirt emerging from the alleys, and offered a lopsided smile as he bent down to scoop up some of the papers fluttering around. He glanced at one. It was a photocopy of what looked like a newspaper, but covered in what looked kind of like Master Splinter's calligraphy. Japanese?

"Please." The man said cautiously, eyeing him as he grabbed a few more of the pages. Casey caught another page under his foot and fished it out, then picked up the bag, letting the other man finish collecting the papers.

It was a soft-sided briefcase, one of the ones that were designed to hold papers and a laptop, although this one didn't seem to have a computer in it –too light. The strap had been partially sliced near where it went into the buckle connecting it to the bag, the cut very neat where the blade had gone and fraying where it had torn the rest of the way under the weight of the bag.

Either the ninja was the world's luckiest lousy thrower, or one of the really, really good ones to get enough force and speed to slice through nylon with just a thrown shuriken. Casey glanced at where the shuriken had landed a few feet away. From the angle…? Probably the second.

He looked up again, suddenly uneasy. He could feel their eyes on him, but there was no one visible. He wanted to swear. He was a sitting duck if they decided to start sniping at him again. They probably wouldn't since there was too much risk of being spotted in broad daylight. But if the guy was their target he didn't think they'd care much if he was in the way.

He wished Leo were here. He wasn't cut out for this strategic stuff.

"Thanks." The man said in relief, trotting up to him with a haphazard pile of now dirty papers. Casey handed him the bag, and the man smiled faintly.

"No problem." Casey said easily, offering his hand. "Name's Casey Jones."

"Adam Matsuda." The handshake was firm and callused, if dwarfed by Casey's massive palm. "Sorry about this."

Casey shrugged, watching the man carefully as he inspected the damage to the strap. The man seemed friendly enough…

"Looks like it wore through." Adam said with a sigh. "Damn it."

Casey said nothing, instead handing over the papers he was holding. He watched as Adam tried to sort the papers back into order while pinning the bag under his armpit, and tried not to laugh when it slipped free and Casey caught it.

_Nah. He can't be a ninja. Sheesh. So maybe he's a target? But why would they want me to know they were after him? _

_Damn it!_

Adam smiled sheepishly as Casey silently held the bag open for him to shove the papers he was shuffling into. "Thanks." He repeated.

"Eh." Casey said negligently, trying not to let his gaze go back to the roofline. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck creeping. "So, uh, what is this stuff? Important business for the karate kid?"

Adam gave a strained laugh. "I wish. It's genealogy research. I've been trying to find information on my birth father."

Casey raised an eyebrow. "Adopted?" It would explain the New York accent.

Adam snorted, shuffling a paper into place in the pile he was holding. "Not exactly. My mom was pregnant when she met my dad. He's on the birth certificate, but there's no DNA involved."

"Huh." Okay, interesting, but this was going nowhere fast. "So why didn't you put those in here?"

Adam looked flustered. "I… was reading an article. I just found out what happened to him…" he trailed off, staring down at the page he'd just shuffled to the front. Casey glanced down. No help there. There were three big blocky characters in bold at the top of the page, a sort of screaming headline. But even if he knew how to read the stuff he doubted he'd understand it upside down.

"He… dead?" Casey asked cautiously. It would be just his luck if the guy turned out to be the son of some goon he'd smashed… He could see some bored Foot ninja with a freaky sense of humor doing that to him.

"I… think." Adam admitted, trailing a finger down the side of the page. "Hamato Yoshi reported missing, presumed dead…" he read quietly, tapping the page. "Near as I can tell, they never found his body."

_What the fuck?!_

Casey felt his eyes bugging out, his body suddenly as cold as if he'd just been doused in ice water and he nearly dropped the bag.

_Splinter! The guy's talking about Master Splinter!_

_It's gotta be a trap! No way in Hell is this guy Master Splinter's kid!_

Then again… there was something vaguely familiar about the guy…

_Wait a minute… he's gotta be my age. The guys are only nineteen… so maybe Splinter got frisky when he was still human? But he never mentioned anyone other than that chick that Saki killed… Then again, I don't exactly tell anyone about my old girlfriends either…_

Argh. His head hurt.

Adam broke his confused line of thinking by slipping the stack of papers into one of the pockets, tucking them behind a more official looking sheet with a vaguely familiar logo. Casey blinked, still trying to get his brain wrapped around Adam's comment.

"Uh…" He managed, his voice a little strangled. Casey cleared his throat and tried again. "Sorry… about yer dad…"

_Who's a giant mutated rat now…_

Adam looked up at him again, smiling thinly and taking the bag from Casey's unresisting hands. "Thanks, I think."

"Do you… know what happened to him?" Casey asked cautiously, still trying frantically to figure out what the heck was going on.

"Serial killer, apparently." Adam grimaced as he tied the severed ends of the strap into a rough knot.

Serial killer?

_Maybe this is some other Hamato Yoshi…? Then why would the Foot be tracking him?_

"Anyway, thanks for the help. Are you with the offices?" Adam gestured to the building behind him as he re-slung the bag across him, wrinkled his nose when he realized that the strap was now too short to make that comfortable, and instead hung it off one shoulder.

"Uh, no. I'm with the van." Casey gestured behind him. "Delivery."

"Ah. Well, have a good evening. I've gotta go or I'll miss my train."

"Hot date?" It was a reflexive answer, and one that caused Casey to grimace almost immediately. Hot date? This wasn't one of the guys. He was asking a potential Foot ninja target or trap about a hot date?

Adam laughed a little, holding up his left hand. Casey saw a glint of gold there. "Nah. Just coaching gymnastics." He said. "Thanks again."

Casey grunted, staring after Adam as he walked swiftly down the street toward the subway station a few blocks down, his mind still reeling.

_What _was_ that?_

He was about to follow, his instincts screaming at him, but the all too familiar flicker of a black shadow jumping between roofs stopped him. He counted one, two… and there was the third one again, standing just close enough to the edge for Casey to see the head and shoulders. The ninja watched him for a moment, gave a sharp nod, and flew after its buddies across the roof, in clear pursuit of Adam Matsuda.

Casey growled to himself, clenching his fists. There was something about the ninja's posture that was irritatingly familiar –and he would swear that the thing was smirking at him. They _wanted_ him to know they were following the guy, that much was clear now. And he wanted to grab the tire iron out of the van and hunt down the smirking ninja and beat him until they told him what was going on.

But he wasn't that stupid. Foot ninja may be comparative child's play to fight, but their strength was in numbers. He'd already seen three, and they obviously knew he was there. Who knew how many others there might be?

He groaned and shot a glare at the other side of the street that should have caused the buildings to crumble. He was going to have to think about this one. So much for his plans for the evening.

April was going to kill him.


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I do not own the TMNT or Google, for which the TMNT are probably very grateful and Google is laughing hysterically at the very thought._

* * *

It had become an anticipated ritual for Jenna, a small touch point in her often hectic life, to have tea with her mother-in-law while Adam was coaching gymnastics. At first she'd only done it because Tomomi had asked her too, as a way to get to know the almost silent older woman. Later the visits had become more numerous, a way for Jenna to help Tomomi dispel the depressing silence of an empty apartment after the death of Akio. Now Jenna found herself making the pilgrimage to the tiny one bedroom apartment three times a week for so many reasons she couldn't define them all. Her mother-in-law had become her confessional in a way, but much more than that. She was the wise woman of stories that Jenna had always wished for, a sort of mixture between a mother-figure and the grandmother she never knew, who was willing to listen no matter what the topic.

And unlike her mother, secrets left with Tomomi were not immediately transmitted to the gossip network ten minutes after she left the room.

"Mom wants us to visit them in Pennsylvania again for Christmas this year. I told her I didn't know if I could get enough vacation time for a real Bentley Christmas this time, but she won't listen." Jenna said in exasperation.

Tomomi smiled faintly at her, bringing the steaming tea kettle over to the small table where Jenna sat. "I'm sure she just wants you to keep the idea in mind."

"I guess." Jenna sighed, watching her mother-in law gracefully pouring some tea for them. "She also said to tell you that you're invited anytime, whether or not Adam and I are there."

The faint smile grew just a little wider as Tomomi returned the kettle to the stove and slid into the chair across from her. "Please tell her I deeply appreciate her offer, and will consider it when the time comes closer." She said smoothly, her voice soft.

Jenna nodded as a delicate teacup appeared in front of her. She accepted it with a murmur of thanks, and was rewarded with yet another faint smile. "I'll pass it on." She promised, relaxing a little as she inhaled the sharp scent of the day's tea.

"How is Adam doing?"

Jenna sighed, cupping her hands around the teacup as if it was a mug. It was a routine question, one she expected any mother worth her salt would ask. But it didn't come with a routine answer.

"Okay, I think. He's getting frustrated again. He showed you those papers he got at the archive, right?" Jenna asked hesitantly. She knew that Tomomi wasn't all that keen on her son's search, but had yet to figure out whether she let him continue because she thought it would be futile trying to stop him or because she was secretly just as curious as her son.

Her mother-in-law nodded, lifting her teacup with a natural elegance that queens would kill for. Jenna had gotten used to Tomomi's almost supernatural grace, but what continued to drive her nuts was the woman's composure. There was _nothing_ that Jenna could see that indicated in any way that her mother-in-law had been disturbed or delighted by Adam's discovery.

"Well, they haven't really given him as much to go on as he hoped. He's complaining that the universe is conspiring against him. The apartment building was destroyed in the invasion, the immigration organization was burned, the archives and the courthouse lost their records, and whenever he tries to contact the federal archives they keep telling him to check here in New York…" Jenna went silent, toying with the cup in her hands.

Okay. That was… odd. For the briefest of seconds, there had been a… tension to her mother-in-law. Her expression hadn't changed, not a muscle had twitched. But when she had mentioned Adam's rant she had seen something shift inside the older woman.

Tomomi said nothing however, simply taking another graceful sip of her tea and raising a delicate eyebrow for Jenna to continue.

"He said he was going to try a few more places, but after that he was out of ideas. And…" Jenna sighed, clutching her tea. Might as well say it. "I'm really starting to hope he doesn't find anything. I mean, I wanted him to find something. But now that he has… I don't know what I'm afraid of anymore. That he'll find something bad and take it to heart, I guess. If this guy was arrested or something… Or if he actually finds him and they decide to meet… I don't know how he'll react."

Tomomi sighed, setting her tea cup silently on the table. "I'm afraid I don't know either." She admitted softly, her gaze distant. "But Adam is a grown man. He is doing what he feels is necessary."

"Is it really necessary to spend all his free time poking around dusty files and genealogy websites?" Jenna said plaintively.

Tomomi smiled knowingly, the expression slight but full of understanding. "You're upset that he's spending more time searching than with you?" She asked gently.

Jenna felt the blush roaring to her ears as she yelped. "No! Well… Maybe… Ugh." She dropped her head to the table, hiding her blushing face in her arms. "I don't know… I'm no good at this stuff Tomomi!" She begged, lifting her head. "Of course I want him there, but he only does this stuff when I'm not home anyway, so I don't have any right to complain. And I'm not jealous. I just…"

She trailed off. The last thing she wanted to do was bring up her fears about Adam using Mr. Hamato as a way to avoid dealing with Akio's death around Tomomi. Her mother-in-law didn't exactly avoid the subject of her husband, but she had to be the one to bring him up or they risked watching her fall apart. Jenna had only seen her do that once since the funeral, and hoped she never had to go through it again. She'd been forced to call Adam's Aunt Naoko to come spend the night with Tomomi when she'd started sobbing incoherently in Japanese.

"…I just worry." Jenna said finally.

Tomomi's smile faded a little. "I also worry." She admitted softly, her dark eyes faintly troubled. "But sometimes worry is all you can do. You cannot change someone, no matter how much you love them or they love you. All you can do is worry, and be there when they need you."

The older woman's voice had trailed off to a near whisper, and her sad eyes seemed to be staring off into a distance only she could see as she sipped her tea. Both of Adam's parents had always had a sadness to their eyes, a sort of heavy darkness that suggested hidden secrets and repressed emotions. It added a mystique to them that left Jenna wondering what their lives in Japan had been like before they immigrated. But before Jenna could ask what was bothering Tomomi, her mother-in-law snapped her attention back to her with another faint smile.

"If it is any consolation, he worries about you too." She added gently.

Jenna cringed, remembering the concerned, frustrated expression Adam had been wearing when she left that morning. He'd been wearing that look a lot lately when he thought she wasn't looking at him. As if she was some sort of puzzle that he'd thought he had all the pieces to and he'd just discovered a dog ate the corners.

"I think I'm part of his problem." She admitted guiltily.

There was the eyebrow again, the raised arch inviting her to elaborate more eloquently than any words could.

Jenna stared morosely down at the pale green liquid in her cup. Ugh… that color didn't look all that great… "I don't know what's with me lately." She admitted, toying absently with the cup and watching the liquid slosh around. "I keep snapping at him and getting upset about stupid things. I don't mean to! One second I'm fine, and then the next I'm angry for no good reason."

The tea was in danger of spilling over the edge now, and the whirling color was beginning to make her stomach uneasy. Eventually she was going to have to take a drink from it. It smelled wonderful, but she'd made the cardinal mistake of actually _looking_ at it long enough to see the weird pale green color that looked like sick watery peas. She stopped swirling and set the cup down on the table, looking at Tomomi instead.

"He keeps asking me what's wrong, but I don't know what to tell him anymore. Mr. Raghunath hasn't been any more of an ass than usual, and things are okay at work. There's the big Amritsar deal we're working on, but I don't think that's it. I thought it might be early PMS, but I haven't had any of my other problems and it's the wrong time anyway. I've been awfully tired lately though." She confessed, wrinkling her nose as yet another possibility occurred to her. "Maybe I'm coming down with something…"

She trailed off, blinking when she realized Tomomi was studying her with an indulgent, knowing expression on her face. "What?"

"Maybe." Her mother-in-law agreed mildly, setting down her tea. "And perhaps there is another possibility."

"What do you mean?"

Tomomi stood, going over to one of the drawers in her tiny kitchen. Her back was turned, so Jenna couldn't see what the older woman was holding until after she returned to her seat and slid the small box across the table to her. Jenna looked blankly at the pregnancy test for a moment, not comprehending, then slowly lifted her head to stare wide-eyed at her mother-in-law's knowing smile.

* * *

The apartment was silent as Tomomi settled herself on the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her, but her thoughts weren't on the book in her lap.

The look on Jenna's face when she had finally realized what she was suggesting had been priceless. Tomomi had thought her face would split from her smile when her daughter-in-law's jaw had dropped, and then again half an hour later when Jenna had staggered out of the bathroom in shock. The girl hadn't even contemplated the idea she might be pregnant. She'd assumed that since they hadn't managed it in the last four years of her marriage due to her unusual cycle pattern that they couldn't get pregnant without intervention.

She'd talked with Jenna for almost two hours before the overwhelmed young woman had gone home. Tomomi didn't know if Jenna was going to tell Adam immediately or not, but at the moment she didn't really care. It was a sort of vindication to Tomomi that the possibility had been confirmed in her apartment. Even if Akio could never hold his grandchild in his arms, he had at least been present in spirit for its discovery.

She was going to be a grandmother. After nearly thirty years of hope and devastation and silent tears over negative tests, there would finally be another child in the Matsuda line.

Her thoughts slowed, her heart seizing as her eyes fell on the low cabinet covered in framed photographs. They covered an entire lifetime, from her son's first baby picture to her entire motley little family at her and Akio's twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Adam and Jenna's wedding photo was placed prominently in the center, and she could see the pure joy in his happy eyes, an instant captured forever.

Tomomi sighed, the sound barely audible even in her silent apartment. No matter how much she had prayed that Adam might somehow absorb even a single gene from her husband, those eyes had not come from her or Akio. And if what she'd overheard the night before was any indication, because of that her grandchild was going to need more protection than she'd hoped.

Fortunately, the ninja assigned to watch her were fairly lax and let her out of sight for long periods of time, probably because they assumed she was some harmless old woman who'd been knocked up in a one night stand thirty years ago. As far as she could tell, the one badly hidden bug by her window that she had "accidentally" knocked off while cleaning was the only other surveillance they were using on her. It hadn't been replaced, and she'd been very careful not to give them any indication that it might be necessary.

Nearly forty years of acting and deception experience had paid off beautifully, allowing her to slip into the most secure of the hiding places she used to spy on the Foot soldiers in her building after "going to bed" the evening before. They hadn't talked much about her son this time, but she'd heard enough to get her thinking while crouching in the dark.

Apparently, the Foot were hoping that by searching for Hamato Yoshi, her son would lead them to the freaks they detested so much.

She'd heard them talking about the "freaks" before, of course. It was practically required conversation for the Foot over the past few years, and they had been of intense interest to the last survivors of the Kurama Clan since Watanabe-san had spotted them fighting briefly at the docks and confirmed the rumors that they fought "in the old style." She knew there were four of them, that they were relatively young, and apparently some sort of giant turtle demons trained in ninjutsu. There had also been the occasional rumors of a master that taught them, but far fewer and he was rarely spotted.

The Kurama Clan had been tracking the rumors of these ninja turtles and their master –sometimes rumored to be a giant rat- since their first battle with the Foot. But to Tomomi's knowledge, this was the first time she'd heard them connected to the equally hated Hamato name.

She could only think of a few viable reasons for the Foot to believe that her son's search for Hamato Yoshi would lead them to the turtles they hated so much. And all of them pointed to the same disturbing possibility.

Was it possible that somehow, through some accident or unusual circumstance, that Hamato-san had survived Saki's murder spree twenty years ago?

Was he alive even now? How did he tie into the four turtle ninja?

Was he the master in the rumors?

Her breath caught, and she forced herself to continue to breathe normally. Hamato-san had always been special. Events whirled around him like iron dust around a magnet, and it had not taken a master to see it. When she'd gotten pregnant, old Master Imamura had warned her that it was possible her child would have the same gift of destiny, and after lengthy consultation with Master Yabe and Mistress Ozu, she'd been ordered to never tell Hamato-san the child was his if she wanted it to have any chance of living its own life.

If Hamato Yoshi was still alive after all these years… still fighting Saki and the Foot Clan or even training other ninja in the old style favored by the Ancient One and the Kurama School…

And her only child was actively _searching him out_…

Tomomi bit her lip, holding back the groan she wanted to let free. It was her own fault. She never should have told Adam his name, and yet… She couldn't not have. She didn't know when or how it had happened, but somewhere, somehow, she had become a mother first, and a ninja second. She would berate herself forever for her moment of maternal weakness, but the fact remained that for a fleeting moment she'd thought it was safe. That the many destinies that swirled so tightly around Hamato-san and those he touched could not possibly have any power twenty years after his death.

But now… If her son somehow found Hamato Yoshi alive…

There wasn't going to be any more hiding. The resemblance between Hamato-san's photo and his son, while not strong, was definitely there. She couldn't deny him the truth of his own eyes. She was going to have to tell him about the masters' decision, and her husband's fear that if Yoshi knew Akio would somehow lose Adam to him.

She didn't know what kind of man Hamato-san was now. He could be as corrupted as the Foot. But if there was anything left of the man she'd known all those years ago, he wouldn't just want to know why she hadn't told him about his son. He would want to be involved in his son's life, and his grandchild's.

She could feel herself tearing apart at the thought. Adam was_ her_ son, hers and Akio's, no matter where the sperm had come from. Dead or alive, she couldn't let Hamato-san take that from her. The grandchild Jenna was carrying was theirs, not his.

But Adam was a grown man now, and she couldn't protect him anymore. She couldn't make his decisions for him. He had to be the one to decide what Hamato-san would mean to him and his child.

Even if that decision meant further reviving the past the Kurama Clan had tried so hard to protect him from and put them all in danger again.

_Akio, please forgive me…_

She couldn't tell her son to stop searching. With both herself and Jenna under surveillance, the Foot Clan knew about her grandchild now, before her son even knew. She knew they would not hesitate to use that to their advantage even if it meant revealing themselves. And she couldn't tell her son what was going on, about her past, for the same reason. The slim chance that the Foot would leave them alone would vanish if they thought there was more to her son's family than just a few immigrants who'd befriended one another. If they discovered that they were the survivors of the Kurama Clan…

Tomomi wanted to scream. No matter how she looked at it, her hands were tied. All of theirs were. Awashima Daiki had already investigated the possibility of hacking the Foot Clan's computers, but he simply wasn't skilled enough to do it without detection. Ito-san had the most experience in the mystic arts of them, but he had nowhere near the skill or talent that Hayashi Ichiro had before his death and had not been able to come up with anything useful. And letting the best fighters remaining among their pitiful band of five, Naoko-san and Watanabe-san, capture and interrogate a Foot member would reveal the existence of the Kurama Clan and put Masao's children and grandchildren in danger as well.

She frowned. The wheels were in motion now, their lives at the mercy of immoral ninja. She would have to think carefully about this. There _had_ to be something else they could do. She was not going to gain the grandchild she'd hoped for, only to have everyone she cared about slaughtered before her eyes.

* * *

Casey was not a computer guy, and generally left anything involving them to April or Don. But between the two of them he'd gotten competent enough to be left alone with a computer for a few hours of internet searching as long as he remembered to leave his weapons in the other room.

Right now though, he was feeling pretty proud of himself.

"April, I found 'im!"

"You did?" April voice floated in from the other room, sounding stunned. He spun in the chair to face the doorway, grinning goofily at her when she entered a minute later.

"Yep." He told her, snagging the redhead as soon as she came within reach to set her on his lap. She gave him an annoyed look when the chair creaked ominously, but stayed in place as he spun them both to face the computer again. "See? That's him."

He tapped the screen, and she shoved his hand out of the way, reaching for the mouse. The picture was small, but was a clear headshot of the guy Casey had met in the service alley earlier.

"Thompson's Tumbling and Gymnastics Staff." April read. "Head Coach Arthur Heidman… Assistant Coach Lori Chesterfield… Assistant Coach Adam Matsuda, a Thompson's graduate, four-time regional champion in floor, pommel horse, and vault."

She blinked, glancing over her shoulder at Casey. "You're sure this is him?"

"Yeah." He nodded in absolute certainty.

April huffed a little. "Okay… well, we know he wasn't lying about this at least. Did you find anything else?"

"Not sure." Casey admitted. "I ran a few searches, but this is the first thing I found with a picture."

He reached around her, trying to take control of the mouse again but his wife refused to relinquish it, instead minimizing the screen to pull up the other search results.

"Google?"

"It worked!" Casey protested.

"I see that, but I thought the Foot would have hidden him better." April said doubtfully.

Casey shrugged, wrapping his arms around her waist for the lack of anywhere else to put them. They had been trying to hash this out ever since he'd told her about his strange encounter in the van. Neither really wanted to confront Master Splinter or the guys without some decent information.

"Hmm. You tried all of these…?"

Casey peered around her shoulder, her hair coming loose from her bun and tickling his nose. "Yeah. I think he's the guy commenting on the family tree stuff, but I'm not sure about the rest."

"Okay…" April started clicking through links at a rapid case, sorting through the possibilities as her husband nuzzled the back of her neck. She squirmed under his attention, causing him to grin and nip playfully at her ear.

"Case…" She started, practically dancing on his lap when he froze, his face still half buried in her hair.

"Go back." He ordered quickly, straightening so he could see better.

She jumped a little at his voice in her ear, but went back a page. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her brows knitted together. "What…"

"The logo!" He exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "It was on one of the papers in his bag."

April blinked, and examined the page more closely. It was a contact listing for one of the city's myriad colleges, providing staff email information, with an Adam Matsuda listed as the contact for questions regarding their Japanese-exchange program.

"That thing he was reading wasn't English." He reminded April. "I thought it looked like Japanese!"

Her frown deepened, and she twisted on his lap to face him better. "Then he probably is a Foot soldier… but why would they let you see them? It doesn't make any sense."

He rolled his eyes. "You think I don't know that? Maybe they're planning something. Or got bored and decided to mess with our heads. Or…" He hesitated, still not entirely certain whether it was even a possibility. "…Or maybe the guy really is who he says he is."

"How?" April demanded.

"Babe, Splinter doesn't exactly talk about his sex life." Casey pointed out. "He barely admits he had a wife."

April stared at him for a moment, her eyes slowly glazing over in horror before she groaned.

"Casey Jones, if you _ever_ put that picture in my head again I swear I will gut you and hang your intestines from the nearest clothesline!" She said viciously, punching him in the shoulder.

He grinned, a malicious gleam in his eye. "And you say _my _mind is dirty."

She made a disgusted noise and shoved at him, trying to scramble of his lap. He tightened his grip around her, pining her into place as the chair creaked again.

"Can you think of anything else that might be useful?"

Casey frowned a little as he thought, carefully turning over the strange meeting in his mind for the umpteenth time, trying to find clues they could use.

"He was wearing a wedding ring." He said, remembering the hint of gold. "And I don't think the stuff in the bag was Japanese. Just the papers he was carrying. He was coming from the left so… maybe he was at that newspaper we drove by?"

"Hmm." April looked thoughtful. "I hadn't thought about the press… and I might be able to find a wedding announcement…"

He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the cheek, giving her a squeeze. "Gonna use your mad computer skills again?"

She glanced at his face again, her green eyes as warm as her smile. "Yes. I'll see what else I can come up with." She said lightly, sliding off his lap.

He resisted for a moment, then let her go with a sigh. _This guy had better be worth the time we're spending on him_, he though in irritation as he watched her straighten. _Or he's gonna pay for busting my plans…_

Then again…

He hauled himself out of the office chair, nearly dumping it to the floor and mumbling an apology when his wife rolled her eyes. He pulled her into a quick hug, feeling her slight frame pressing against him as he leaned down to murmur in her ear.

"Spaghetti sound good to you…?"

* * *

"Jenna?" Adam called, stifling a yawn as he stepped into the tiny entryway and locked the door behind him. He'd been up since five, done a full day's work, and gone through an unexpected emotional wringer before spending several hours chasing hyperactive preteen boys across gymnastics equipment. It was a quarter to nine now, and he was exhausted. "I'm back."

He'd just hung his light jacket beside her heavier black one on the door when he saw her stepping out of the kitchen hugging herself, a strange, almost uncertain smile on her face. Instantly he felt his guard go up. _Not tonight…_ he prayed, remembering the last few arguments after he commented on her recent unusual behavior.

"Jen?" He said hesitantly, settling his bag down beside the sofa. He'd been planning on telling her about the article over dinner, but…

He could see her hesitate, her lovely brown eyes moist and uncertain about something. She almost bit her lip, but caught herself, and dropped her gaze to the floor.

Adam closed the distance between them, reaching out to gently take her by the shoulders. He wondered what had gotten into her now. His wife was a very open woman, and when something was bothering her it practically screamed through her behavior. Not meeting his eyes like this was setting off a fire alarm in his heart.

"Are you alright?"

Jenna laughed a little, the sound soft and overwhelmed, her eyes flickering from the floor to the mounted epee and saber on the far wall. He held his breath. The swords were the ones they'd favored in the fencing club where they'd first met, and it wasn't uncommon for Jenna to look at them when she had something important to tell him.

"I'm okay, I guess." She said at last, her voice light but uneasy. "I… figured out why I've been so weird lately."

Okay… not what he'd expected, but welcome to hear. "What is it?"

He could feel her nerving herself under his fingers, and he tried not to frown when she jerked her head up to meet his eyes again, strands of her mahogany brown hair slipping into her face.

"I'm pregnant."

He stared at her, mind racing as he sorted through a thousand things at once without actually getting anywhere. Pregnant? As in baby? _His_ baby? But they couldn't…

Walking out on breakfast. The strange mood flips. Her generally unexplainable exhaustion after work…

"You're sure?" He asked, his voice suddenly hoarse with hope.

She bobbed her head jerkily. "Mm hmm. I was at your mom's and she gave me a test and I stopped on the way home and bought some more tests to be sure and they're all positive." She babbled nervously. "I didn't even think about it until your mom pulled out a test and –Adam she had a pregnancy test in her _kitchen!_"

Adam barely registered what his wife was saying. He had his answer, in the way she was leaning into his hands and jerking her head so violently that most of her hair had come loose from its French braid to flop around her face.

Jenna was still babbling when he crushed her against him, holding her so tightly that she let out a little "ooph" when he squeezed the air out of her. He heard her laugh breathlessly in his ear, a strangely nervous yet relieved sound, and after a moment he felt her relax against him. He pulled back slightly and kissed her then, with all the force and passion he could muster, trying in some small way to let her know the enormous joy suffusing his heart.

They were having a baby at last.

He was going to be a dad.

~*~

It wasn't until later that night, after they'd gone to bed and he was watching his wife sleep in his arms, that Adam remembered the article.

He'd found him. After a year of searching, he'd found Yoshi Hamato. And now…

The hope was gone. It was pretty much a given that his birth father was dead. According to the article, there had been too much of his blood at the scene to be otherwise.

He had an answer of sorts now, if not the one he'd been hoping for. He could keep trying, maybe see if he could locate some old neighbors, but…

_No. _

He closed his eyes, swallowing as he fought the urge, the _need_ to find more. He _had_ to keep looking now, he was going to be a dad and who knew what kind of medical history Yoshi Hamato had…

No. The man was dead, with no family listed at all other than his dead wife. He hadn't even been alive long enough to be naturalized as a citizen. There wasn't going to be much more to find, and trying would only hurt himself and his family. He should let the dead lie.

And yet… he needed closure. He knew that. After looking for so long he needed something, some kind of proof that there was no one left for him to find, that his birth father would not someday walk through his door and demand a meeting.

Opening his eyes, he watched Jenna sleep for a few moments in the faint light of the window, a tender smile he reserved only for her twisting his lips before leaning over and kissing her gently on the forehead. She stirred briefly, then settled with a contented sigh as he held her close.

He'd see if he could get permission to view the police records for the murder case, he decided. And if he managed that, he'd try to get Mr. Hamato's medical records released, just in case there was something he needed to know about that might affect his child. And that would be it. There would be no more searches, no more calls to the archives. He would move on with what he had, and forget the rest.


	6. Chapter 6

_First, if there's anyone still reading this, I'd like to apologize for my long absence from this fic. Life and writer's block conspired to keep me from it, and by the time I was able to return I couldn't remember where I was going. I literally rewrote this chapter from scratch nine times trying to figure it out. Thankfully, inspiration struck while working my way through the 2003 series again._

_It has now been completely reworked. It's not all written yet, but I do have it plotted out and will post new chapters as I finish. It may take a while, but I will finish this fic!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the TMNT, for which they are probably very grateful._

* * *

It was well past midnight when Tsutomu slipped into small boardroom, quickly scanning both the room and the hallway for unwanted observers before closing the door behind him. He took a few steps forward before sinking into a deep bow, keeping his eyes on the faint shadows flung across the floor by the single candle.

"Report."

Tsutomu straightened, but still kept his head bowed respectfully. He knew the Elite member appreciated this extra gesture of subservience from his most trusted follower.

"The target made contact with Jones, and did not notice our presence." Tsutomu kept his voice neutral, skimming over the aspects of the encounter already reported to his master earlier that evening. "We made sure Jones was aware that we were trailing the target, but he did not mention our presence in their conversation. The target then proceeded to the gym, while Jones entered the van with the O'Neil woman."

"You heard _all _of what they said?"

Tsutomu nodded, the movement more of a bow than a confirmation. "Hai. But there was nothing more of significance. The target believes Hamato to be dead, and now Jones knows of Hamato's son."

"How did the American know the target would mention Hamato?" His master demanded.

Tsutomu shrugged. "He did not. But he has fought Jones and the freaks for five years, and claims to understand how they think."

His answer seemed to mollify Fukiyama-san, and it was clear that the matter had been preying on his mind since their earlier briefing had been cut short. The Elite were not supposed have any interests other than following the orders of the current leader of the Foot, and for Fukiyama-san to have delayed his response to Mistress Karai's summons would have immediately betrayed their intentions.

"What of the American?"

Tsutomu hesitated a moment, carefully evaluating what he had seen of the younger man over the course of their surveillance. Isaiah's experience with the freaks and his accurate instincts were what had first brought the American to their attention, but anyone who had survived the massive factioning and forced reunion of the Foot Clan unscathed had to be treated with caution. He'd come to like Isaiah, but as to whether or not the other man was suitable to join them... "He is skilled in combat." Tsutomu admitted at last. "But he can be impatient, and his loyalties are unclear."

"Would he contest our cause?"

Tsutomu gave a brief shake of his head. "No. He will follow orders, and ensure his squad does as well. But he does not care who leads as long as they recognize his skills."

"Then he is no threat." The Elite's tone was dismissive. "He has requested to be restored to his previous duty. Hashimoto-san will arrange for it, so _Mistress _Karai will never know."

His master's tone dripped with scorn for the Foot's current leader, but Tsutomu ignored it. He had been loyal to Fukiyama-san since before Oruku Saki's mysterious disappearance and presumed death during the Earth Protection Force's attack, and was more relieved to hear that Isaiah would be returned to his former duties than inclined to care how obvious the Elite was making his distaste for their current leader.

"He will be pleased." Tsutomu said neutrally. "He prefers combat to surveillance. But if I may inquire who will replace him?"

His master waved the question away. "One of your earlier recruits. It is more important that you continue to observe, but _do not_ let yourself be seen again. Oroku-sama will not hesitate to execute anyone who jeopardizes the Clan."

Tsutomu felt himself go cold at the name. Oroku Saki had preferred the titles Shredder-dono while in Japan, and Master Shredder from his American subordinates. Only outsiders were allowed to refer to him as Oroku-san or Mr. Saki when it became too tiresome to correct idiotic Americans who didn't understand Japanese name order. There were only two other men he knew of who were allowed to carry the Oroku family name, and only one of them had earned the lofty use of "sama."

"Oroku-sama is coming?"

Apparently his voice didn't convey the fear Tsutomu felt in the polite inquiry, and his master had known him to be a loyal retainer long enough to feel he deserved an answer.

"Hai. I have sent for him to deal with her failures. Since _Mistress _Karai will not move against the freaks when the time comes, we must be prepared to do it ourselves at a moment's notice. He will not tolerate hesitation."

"Hai, Fukiyama-san." Tsutomu bowed, feeling a strange chill pricking at the back of his neck underneath his mask. He'd heard more stories about Oroku Saki's former body double than he cared to think about, and the thought of the ninja who'd singlehandedly arranged for the extermination of no less than six rival ninja clans and countless traitors coming to New York was not reassuring.

And yet, he could see the simple beauty of Fukiyama-san's plan. Having Oroku Saki's personal assassin and the only "internal affairs investigator" in the Foot Clan do their dirty work for them was brilliant- if they could keep from attracting Oroku-sama's attention themselves.

"Speak of this to no one." The Elite ordered. "I have not received his reply yet, and we do not want _Mistress _Karai to hear of this until it is too late."

* * *

"_Get away, Eric! You can't stop me- I won't let you stop me!"_

_ "Miranda, don't do this!"_

Splinter shifted ever so slightly in his chair as he watched Eric pleading with Miranda not to kill herself, affecting full absorption in the daytime drama as he tried to adjust his position without catching Leonardo's attention. His son was on the couch, apparently engrossed in a novel, but his father had caught his eyes flickering away from the page in his direction more than once over the past hour.

He stifled a sigh. It had become increasingly difficult to hide anything from his sons. Neither he nor the rat he'd been crossed with had been young when he mutated, and it had become increasingly apparent that the two expected lifespans had merged unevenly. If he had to, he could still hold his own in a fight, still perform the moves that had kept him and his sons alive for nearly twenty years, but his body was fighting back. He bruised more easily, wore out faster, and took longer to recover from even minor injuries. To his disgust, arthritis had even set into a few joints, but his ninjutsu training had allowed him to minimize the effects to the point that his sons had been largely unaware of his difficulties other than his increasing tendency to stay behind on their "missions."

Until the day after he'd gone with his sons to help Karai avenge the murder of her infant daughter, when he'd been mortified to discover that once the adrenaline left his system he could barely move.

The show faded to commercial, and Splinter caught his son hastily averting his gaze from him again as he reached for the tea Leonardo had so thoughtfully provided when his stories had started.

Hmm. Almost gone.

No matter. He'd just get some more while the commercials were on…

"I'll get you some more tea, Master Splinter."

Before he had a chance to do more than lean forward, Leonardo had set his book aside and leaped off the couch, taking the teacup from his hand. Splinter blinked as he watched his son hurrying to the kitchen, trying to force down his conflicting emotions at being shoved out of such a simple task.

After all the difficulties his little family had endured since Leonardo's return from the jungle, in the end it had been the need to take care of him and Donatello after avenging Karai's daughter that had finally pulled his sons into a team again. By then, he'd been so worried for his children's mental health that Splinter had been willing to overlook anything. But over the past six months their worried attention had become almost more irritating than the problems themselves. As much as he loved his sons, there was only so much assistance a person could take before their pride began to suffer.

Splinter released the breath he'd been holding slowly, deliberately letting go of his irritation as he watched his son step over the two cats sleeping in the doorway of the kitchen.

Since his return from the jungle, Leonardo had been struggling to come to terms with the many changes his extended absence had brought in his family, and the resulting consequences. Raphael's reaction hadn't been entirely unexpected, even if Leonardo had been caught off guard by its intensity. But Michelangelo's tearful accusations and general depression had hurt his son deeply, and Donatello's spectacular breakdown while recovering from his injuries had caught everyone but their father by surprise.

Leonardo had been forced to face the painful fact that his brothers had changed, and not necessarily in ways he could understand, only learn to accept. They had, for better or worse, grown up in his absence. It had been a harsh realization, and while his son had finally started to accept his brothers' newfound maturity, it had left him with a lingering guilt over his choice to stay in the jungle for so long that his father doubted would ever be erased.

But then, the past year since Leonardo's return had not been easy for any of them. The time spent without Leonardo had forced his other sons to mature in ways they could not have done with him there, to become more secure in their personal identities and more aware of their own limitations --and consequentially their brothers'. Now, with four strong, disparate personalities trying to find common ground without sacrificing their hard won independence, it was probably a miracle that he still _had_ four sons in the Lair.

"Here's your tea, Sensei."

Splinter gravely accepted the teacup Leonardo handed him, cupping the delicate china in two hands as he quietly thanked his son. Leonardo bowed a little, and returned to the sofa as the commercial break ended and the familiar strains of dramatic music heralded the soap opera's return. His son's eyes flickered to the television screen for a brief moment as he reached for his book, and Splinter studiously ignored his son's quick glance back in his direction as the sounds of the drama washed over them once more.

"_No! Miranda, please don't do this!"_

His ears perked suddenly, trying to catch the faint, almost imperceptible noise. On the sofa across from him, Leonardo tensed, resting his book in his lap, watching him.

The faint hiss of the door sliding open was accompanied by his ears relaxing back against his head as the familiar footsteps suddenly became clearly audible.

"Yo, Greenbacks!"

Splinter flinched as Casey's easy greeting echoed off the door sliding shut behind them and bounced cheerfully around the spacious room.

"Casey!" He could hear the irritation in April's voice as she scolded her husband, and the old rat smiled to himself. Marriage had calmed the more extreme aspects of their personalities, but had not changed April and Casey's essential natures.

Splinter ignored the glance Leonardo sent him before carefully setting his book aside and bounding over the back of the couch to greet their friends. He didn't move, keeping most of his attention on the daytime drama although he did keep an ear open for the conversation. Their friends were used to his slightly delayed greetings, particularly when they arrived during his stories.

"_Miranda, don't do this. Do you really think your death will solve anything?"_

"_I have to do this! I just can't… there's no other way Eric, believe me!"_

"Hello April, Casey."

"Hey Leo. How're ya doin'?"

A light thud accompanied Raphael somersaulting over the railing from the second level to land by the door. "Who're you calling a greenback?" Raphael demanded.

"Who do you think, fungoid?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Splinter caught a glimpse of Donatello sticking his head out of the lab, still wearing his magnifying goggles. He looked confused for a moment before his eyes fell on the commotion by the door, and then to his father's relief the rest of him emerged from the room.

"_Get away from me, Eric. Get away!"_

"_No! Miranda, please don't do this!"_

"_You don't understand. How could you?"_

"_What don't I understand? Why won't you tell me what's going on?!"_

"_It's _Kylie, _Eric! Our daughter murdered Ashlyn!"_

Splinter heaved a small sigh as the scene faded to the credits on that dramatic note, and took a final sip of his tea. Neither his sons or their friends seemed to understand his addiction to his stories, but at least they had learned over the years not to interrupt them. They were his sanity point, a sort of friend that he could live vicariously through but not have to worry for their safety, and a way to connect with the world he'd once lived in. For years, they had been his only source of mental stimulation at a level older than his sons' juvenile babbling.

Even now, he found reassurance in the dramas that he could not find anywhere else. For while his sons had all managed to find friends near their own age they could confide in outside their little family, for him there was no one. If he desperately needed advice or assistance he could try to contact the Daimyo through spiritual or mystical means, but he wasn't exactly a great source for mutant turtle parenting tips. His stories were not much better, but he had managed to glean enough practical advice through the years to have provided him needed guidance on occasion.

Or at the very least, examples of what _not_ to do.

"Hi Don." April's soprano seemed to float amid the confused jumble of tenor greetings, and Splinter felt one ear twitch as the words reached them. After so many years, he knew every nuance of Ms. O'Neil's voice, and something in her tone was… strange.

A glance in the direction of the door showed three of his sons gathering around the Joneses, Donatello coming to a stop by Leonardo. Casey was talking to Raphael, and April was smiling and kneeling to scratch Raphael's cat, Lucy, who'd come running at her master's voice. Klunk was pretending to be unconcerned by the ruckus, and was studiously cleaning himself in the kitchen doorway.

"What brings you down?" Donatello asked curiously.

"Just thought we'd drop by." April answered lightly, standing as she cut across Casey's undoubtedly impolite retort. Casey draped an arm across the shoulders of his petite wife as April smiled warmly at his sons, but he looked uneasy. Splinter's whiskers twitched. Casey was not the greatest actor, and was often a more reliable barometer for a situation than his wife. Something was bothering the large man, and Splinter could only hope it had nothing to do with his little family.

"Uh, right."

"How's the shop?"

"Eh."

"Same ol', huh?"

"_Casey!_"

"What?"

"The shop's fine, guys. We finally sold that big Regency chest."

Splinter shook his head as he listened to the banter, carefully leaning on his hanbo as he let his tail realign with his back after being twisted around during his stories. He'd long ago discovered that his mutated musculature was no longer suitable for walking upright or on all fours, and until recently his sons had not realized that he'd adopted the cane-like weapon to ease the load on his aching joints and maintain the half-way position his body was better suited for. Likewise, tails were simply not meant for human seating. It was one reason why he'd kept the furnishings in his room mostly traditional -kneeling gave his tail just enough room to keep from getting cramped or squashed into odd positions.

"Did Angel call you? She said there was someone in her apartment building was looking to sell some old furniture." Leonardo asked.

"She and Keno dropped by on Wednesday before their date." April answered. "I thought they broke up again."

Splinter resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the reminder of the volatile on-again, off-again romance of two of his sons' friends. And he'd thought April and Casey were a difficult pair…

"I wish_ he_ would break." Casey grumbled. April punched his arm lightly.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Jones, Ms. O'Neil." He said warmly as he neared, deciding to break in before Casey could start his well-rehearsed litany against any male who dared date the girl he considered his charge. "It is always good to see you."

"Hello Master Splinter." April's voice didn't waver and she turned her soft smile in his direction and his sons parted to let him approach, but he could smell her unease.

"Uh, h'lo." Casey managed intelligibly.

April was looking around now, a slight frown on her face. "Where's Mikey?"

Dontello shrugged. "Skateboarding in the east tunnels."

Casey looked surprised. "You let Mikey loose during the day?"

His son's grin was almost feral, and Splinter made a mental note to check on Donatello later. His brilliant son was inclined to snap more easily since Leonardo's return, and he didn't want something to fester and cause any more resentment between his sons.

"He wanted to do something, so I had him run some designs over to Leatherhead's."

"So what's the bag for?" Raphael asked suddenly, gesturing to the messenger bag April had slung across her.

"Um…" Casey hesitated, scanning the room in a clear attempt to find a distraction. Splinter felt an eyebrow rise.

"We…" April started to answer, paused, and then paled a little as she suddenly found herself under his sons' intense gazes. A blush started to rise in her cheeks and Casey rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, glancing down at her in desperation.

April cleared her throat quickly. "Master Splinter?" She said hesitantly, fixing her gaze on his. "We kinda… need to talk to you…"

His other eyebrow rose as he studied the pair for a moment, resting his hands on top of his hanbo. They were practically squirming, their unease and reluctance to talk in front of his sons painfully obvious.

He stifled a sigh, recognizing their behavior at last and hoping that he was not being called on to mediate between the Joneses again. He wasn't sure he was in the mood to deal with April's temper and Casey's tactless bumbling.

"Of course."

"Thanks. Do you mind if we…?" She trailed off again, her cheeks flaming as she gestured helplessly in the direction his quarters.

"Not at all."

Leonardo moved a few steps to the side to allow them to pass him, looking resigned and somewhat exasperated. Splinter was clearly not the only one assuming the possibility of a marital dispute. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time the pair had found it beneficial to use Splinter as the neutral party between their frequent arguments.

"What did you do this time, bonehead?" Raphael accused dryly, crossing his arms.

"Wha… Why do you assume it was me?" Casey exclaimed indignantly, rounding on his friend.

"It's always you." His son retorted, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

"Now just a minute…" Casey started, face reddening.

"Come _on,_ Casey." April insisted, grabbing his arm and yanking her unresisting husband a few feet. "You two can argue later."

"I'm not arguing. I'm just saying." Raphael's smirk was now clearly visible.

"_Later._" April said impatiently, pulling Casey toward Splinter. He resisted this time, unyielding as a boulder.

"Casey." April glared significantly at her husband.

"Huh? But… oh." He stared at her blankly for a moment, clearly gearing up for another protest, then reluctantly let himself be dragged along under the curious gazes of his sons.

Splinter was surprised at Casey's sudden compliance, but said nothing as they proceeded to his room. The door slid easily open, and he made sure to push it farther open than he usually did to admit Casey's enormous bulk before moving to stand behind the low table in the center of the room. He turned in time to see a nervous-looking Casey Jones being prodded in by his shorter wife, and smiled warmly at them while April slid the door closed behind her.

"Thank you for seeing us, Master Splinter." April said formally, returning his smile with a soft one of her own. Casey was fidgeting, glancing down at his wife when she came to stand beside him, but the nod he gave Splinter was as respectful as any more traditional bow.

"Yeah…" Casey's voice trailed off after a moment, and he cleared his throat before adding. "Thanks."

"It is not a problem." Splinter assured them. "Please, sit." He waved for them to take a seat across the low table from him, and knelt on the well worn cushion, whiskers twitching a little as he watched the pair. Casey looked even more nervous than he usually did when invited into Splinter's domain, and he swung his head wildly as he tried to make sure there was nothing breakable he was going to hit nearby while he sat. April was more graceful as she knelt across from him, but her expression was hesitant.

"So, uh…" Casey started, glancing nervously back at the sliding door. "Are they…?" he gestured vaguely behind him. Splinter raised an eyebrow, but shook his head. The question did not bode well for the topic of conversation.

"No. They are not listening." He assured them. The vigilante relaxed a little, but glanced down at his wife again. April unslung the messenger bag and settled it in her lap before taking a deep breath.

"Master Splinter, Casey… met a unique individual yesterday that we need to talk to you about." She said slowly. "Have you ever heard of Adam Matsuda?"

He frowned, and shook his head. "I do not believe so."

"You're sure?"

Splinter hesitated. It was not an easy question. His memories from before he mutated were… unreliable. Most were vague or difficult to recall, or simply gone. Some were sharper than he remembered them being as a human, or from a different angle than they should have been. Others didn't seem to belong to him at all, but to the Tokyo rat he now resembled. As far as he could tell, the strongest memories of his human life were the ones shared with his wife's pet.

Thankfully, his sons had never pressed him about this. Splinter wasn't sure he would ever be willing to admit that for years he'd wondered whether he was really Hamato Yoshi mutated, or his pet.

"Why do you ask?" He said at last.

April looked as nervous as her husband now. Splinter felt something twisting inside him, the same feeling he had gotten when his sons had presented him with the torn bit of dogi bearing the emblem of the Foot for the first time, and watched with sudden dread as she undid the clasp on the front of the bag in her lap.

"I, uh, met this guy yesterday while April was signing papers and stuff." Casey reiterated as the petite redhead beside him slid some papers out of her bag to set them on the low table between them. "Only he wasn't really… I mean he was… He might've been… But the Foot were…" the vigilante muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck.

Splinter held up his hand. Something about this meeting had clearly upset Casey and he knew from experience that he would babble incoherently if not directed. "From the beginning please, Mr. Jones."

"Here." April interrupted, selecting a page and turning it around so that he could see it clearly. "This is him."

Splinter studied the photograph April indicated on the printout, a headshot of a smiling young Japanese man, and slowly shook his head. He saw April take a deep breath, steeling herself for something.

"What about her?" She slid another piece of paper to him, this one some sort of official form for the man in question. She tapped her finger by one of the lines. "Mother: Tomomi Matsuda. Maiden name…" She craned her head a little to read better as Splinter tried to see where she was pointing. "…Inu? Ino?"

The world seem to slow as he felt the full force of his past suddenly hanging over him, freezing him into place. Slowly, with excruciating care, he gently moved April's fingers for a better view of the name.

"Inoue-san." He whispered.

Inoue-san had been one of the more promising of the kunoichi students he'd known at the Kurama School of Ninjutsu almost forty years ago. The Ancient One had taken his students there often so that they could practice their new skills on different opponents, and they'd been adopted as honorary clan members. Inoue-san had been an exceptional kunoichi, the proud daughter of an old family that had created dozens of masters.

It surprised him that he remembered her at all. They had been friendly, but not friends. It was glimpses mostly, of a teenager and young woman, frowning slightly in concentration as she practiced a kata, or laughing with friends in the gardens.

And one brief, all-too-vivid night under the light of the moon, their relieved laughter at escaping the mission alive ringing through the dark.

He was aware of the sudden silence between their friends, the anxious look they shot at one another.

"Ya knew her?" Casey's voice was unsteady, hesitant.

It wasn't possible. It had to be some sort of trick. The Kurama Clan was dead. All of them. Saki had seen to that before coming after him nineteen years ago.

But she hadn't been in Japan then… She'd married. He could distantly remember his surprise when he'd discovered on arrival that she'd been sent to America and had a son. It had been too dangerous for them to actually meet at the time, but Yoshi had been introduced to her husband.

He moved his fingers to the next line, revealing the neat words that floated through his muddled memories like a ghost.

Father: Akio Matsuda.

Inoue-san's husband.

"Yes." He said softly.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of April's nervous fingers sorting through the remaining papers.

"This… Adam Matsuda is her son?" He asked at last, reading the name on the form and trying to remember past twenty years of guilt and regret -and a sudden, painful surge of hope. He'd never met Matsuda-san's son, or Inoue-san while in the city. Perhaps Saki hadn't found her after all…

But he'd killed the Maedas, Shen, and systematically hunted down everyone in Japan according to the Ancient One. He'd boasted while torturing him about killing Shen and the others and taunted him with the knowledge that he was the last of the Kurama Clan. How could Saki have missed the Matsudas?

"Uh huh."

April's hands had moved to her lap, and she squeezed the edge of her bag in a white knuckled grip as she hesitantly cut across her husband's monosyllabic reply. "Could you tell us… how you knew her?"

He looked sharply at the pair sitting across from him. They looked suspiciously like errant children. There was more to this than they had told him.

"I think." He said softly, picking his words with excruciating care and trying not to pay attention to the tightening knot in his gut. "That first you should explain how you became aware of this young man, and why you believe I would know him or his mother."

Silence. The Joneses exchanged another look, uncertainty written on their faces until Casey broke the silence.

"Uh…"

The sound bounced around the room as Splinter waited calmly, feeling his ears twitch. Casey looked at April, who made a little gesture for him to continue. The vigilante sighed heavily.

"It's like this… we were delivering some stuff to this office and I was putting away the ropes when a shuriken hit the crate next to me, and when I turned around there was this Foot soldier on the roof across the street. It saw me looking and _bowed_!"

Splinter felt his eyebrows raise. He could understand some of Casey's confusion now.

"Bowed?"

The pair nodded. "We think they wanted him to know they were there." April admitted. "It's the only thing that makes sense."

Casey nodded quickly. "Yeah. Then they disappeared and I heard this guy at the end of the alley swearing. The shuriken cut the strap on his bag and dumped these papers all over. I figured he was a trap or sumthin' but I couldn't tell so I started talking while he picked up his papers an'…"

He stopped mid-sentence, looking desperately down at his wife.

"He told Casey his name was Adam Matsuda, and the papers were research on his birth father." April said quickly. "The papers were all in another language…"

"Japanese." Casey interrupted her. "It looked like that fancy writing you do."

"… but he couldn't tell what it said so we don't know if he was telling the truth or not." She finished, ignoring her husband's interruption.

Splinter blinked slowly, trying to correlate the brief narrative with his gut feeling that there was more to this encounter than met the eye. It had clearly rattled the Joneses, and the Foot soldier bowing to Casey was… troubling to say the least. Their little family, and by extension Casey and April, had been accorded an uneasy peace with the Foot Clan since the defeat of the demon Shredder over two years before. But the Foot had fractured into several groups after Ch'rell's exile, and although Karai had succeeded in reuniting them once more there had nonetheless been several attempts on their lives by members who had continued with their faction's policies in secret.

"And the Foot?" Splinter inquired, wondering at the strange behavior of the ninja and hoping Casey could throw some light on the situation.

"Like I said, they bowed and then vanished. And then when the guy left they showed up on the roof again -I think they _wanted_ me to see them." Casey's voice was rising, and Splinter fought to keep from flinching at the echoes in his small room. "They followed him on the roofs all the way down the street."

"Did Mr. Matsuda know about the Foot watching him?"

"Uh-uh." Casey shook his head emphatically. "The guy didn't even notice they were chucking stuff at him."

Splinter frowned. "Perhaps he was another Foot soldier being used as a decoy?"

Casey continued to shake his head. "No offense Master Splinter, but I know ninjas and this guy was no ninja." He finished earnestly.

"And I couldn't find any information on thefts or suspicious activity in the area." April added quickly. "We could be wrong, but we don't think he knows he's being followed."

Hmm. Why would the Foot be following this man, if their friends were correct?

It had to be some sort of elaborate trap. It just wasn't possible for it to be anything else.

"What else did this Mr. Matsuda say?" He asked, wondering if there was some clue in the two men's conversation that he could use to decipher the situation a little more clearly.

The pair across from him exchanged another significant glance, and Splinter felt a rock add to the twisted mess his insides had become just before Casey blurted out,

"He said his dad was Hamato Yoshi."


	7. Chapter 7

_Here's the next installment. I really do feel sorry for Donatello. When you consider all the roles he takes on -doctor, scientist, computer specialist, weapons manufacturer, engineer, mechanic, inventor, etc- as well as being a full-time ninja, he's got more stress on his shoulders than all his brothers combined. Taking that into account, and adding the problems the four brothers were likely to have as they tried to become a team again, it seemed inevitable that he'd have some kind of breakdown after the events of TMNT. Hence, my Don.  
_

_I do want to apologize for any confusion there might have been between my OC and the Adam from the fifth season. At the time I started writing this, I had not actually seen the Lost Season -and after I did I wanted to bang my head on the wall. I considered changing his name, but by that point he didn't work with anything else, so I decided that this universe is big enough for two Adams.  
_

_A very special thanks to Amicitia Revenant for her wonderful review!  
_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the TMNT, for which they are probably very grateful._

* * *

It had been nearly ten minutes since his sons had left the Lair, but Master Splinter intended to wait at least five more. He was almost certain they didn't suspect anything, but with the way they'd been watching him the past few months, the old rat wasn't going to leave anything to chance.

He only hoped that he was doing the right thing.

Idly, he flipped through the channels, occasionally resting on something familiar before moving on after a few moments, his mind far too occupied to be distracted by the dramas of fictional characters.

The gimmick of an unknown child was used frequently in his stories, but he doubted any of those scriptwriters had actually been confronted with the situation before. When Casey had first blurted out his human name shock, disbelief, even anger had all gone through him, before being supplanted with a strange numbness as forgotten memories surged and fell together. But the sudden longing that consumed him immediately after had disturbed him.

It was only on reflection that he'd realized the feeling had very little to do with the idea of having a human son, but instead stemmed from his decades long desire to have an acquaintance his own age. Someone real and televised, who understood the difficulties of raising children while trying to protect them from the repercussions of his rash actions as a teenager and young man in Japan.

It was an irrational, hopeless and altogether ridiculous desire that he'd done his best to ignore, but even now he wondered just how much it was coloring his decision to visit Inoue-san in person.

Four more minutes. Another ten would be better, but he didn't think he'd be able to last that long.

Truthfully, the idea of having a child through his one night stand with Inoue-san and not his beloved Shen was a painful irony that had made the past two days extremely difficult as he tried to work through all the implications of Casey's revelation without his sons noticing.

He knew he hadn't succeeded, not completely, and for the first time was simply thankful that they seemed to think his distraction was merely his arthritis bothering him. They wouldn't be expecting him to leave the Lair while they were gone, but there was always the chance that one of them might suspect it hadn't been a marital problem that brought their friends down to see him.

Three minutes.

He shouldn't be doing this. The chance that Adam was truly his son was so slim, so impossible, that it just couldn't be true. It seemed more likely that Karai, or possibly one of the Foot factions she'd been wrestling with, had somehow found some information and pieced a story together to draw him in. For all he knew, the Foot could have killed the Matsudas decades ago and were playing off scanty connections in old records, trying to see what hit home. It was highly possible this was merely an elaborate trap of some kind, and walking into it for his own purposes was selfish, irresponsible, and extremely dangerous.

Two minutes.

And yet... Even with his hazy and uncertain memories he was certain he had never told anyone of that night in the fields with Tomomi. And unless there had been irrefutable evidence, he doubted Inoue-san would have either. To do so would have ended her career, and of all the ways their enemies had found to draw them out, he simply couldn't see one of them constructing such a roundabout trap without some grain of truth to the matter.

But if Adam really was his son, he wasn't sure he was ready to deal with the repercussions. Casey had said that Adam was looking for information on his birth father, but he couldn't see his introduction going over well at all. Especially since Inoue-san had apparently told Adam his name, but not revealed their shinobi heritage.

He sighed heavily, and glanced at the clock again.

One minute.

Absently, he clicked off the television, setting the remote down on the little table beside his chair as he watched the clock on the wall. On the sofa, Lucy lifted her head in the abrupt silence, then returned to cleaning Klunk's head. Both cats ears' twitched as he determinedly levered himself out of the chair.

No matter how he looked at the situation, he needed more information. The Joneses had given him what they could find, and promised not to mention anything to his sons. Casey's testimony suggested that Adam himself had no clue of his situation, which left a visit to Inoue-san to determine if she was really who she claimed to be, and whether or not this Adam Matsuda was really his son.

It was dangerous, foolhardy. But confronting Inoue-san was the only way he could think of that might give him the truth of that night nearly thirty years ago.

* * *

"Whatcha thinking, Donny?"

Donatello startled at his brother's voice, tearing his eyes away from the tiny camera to meet Raphael's amber ones. Raph's voice was casual, and he looked relaxed, leaning against the brick wall of the sewer as Don finished replacing the tiny lens, but his crossed arms and steady gaze told Don that his brother knew there was something important going on in his head.

He saw a familiar flicker of pained guilt flash across Leonardo's face, probably because the ever-vigilant Raphael had spotted his distraction first, and tried to stifle the irritation caused by his brothers' constant need to check on him.

"Nothing."

Michelangelo snorted, rolling his eyes. "Don, seriously. Nothing? With you it's always how to make a reactor out of the television, or turn the Battle Shell into some sort of funky turtle transformer. Not 'nothing'."

Leo raised an eyeridge at Mikey's assessment, and Raph continued to stare coolly at Don. He could almost feel his brothers' eyes boring into him.

Don sighed, and rubbed a tired hand over his beak. They'd caught him. Again. And just like every other time since that hellish night six months ago, he knew he wasn't going to be allowed to keep his thoughts to himself.

"I'm worried about Master Splinter."

Raph uncrossed his arms with a heavy sigh. Leo seemed to deflate, and Mikey sort of slumped against the wall as Don clamored down the rusty ladder.

"Has he said anything to you?" Leo asked quietly.

Don shook his head. Leo sighed.

Once he'd recovered from the initial collapse that had left him nearly helpless, their sensei had made it clear without expressly saying so that as long as he felt it was within the confines of his abilities to deal with, he was not going to trouble his sons with his health problems. And after enduring the guilty attention of his family during his rocky convalescence, Donatello couldn't blame him.

Unfortunately it didn't stop them from worrying. To his family's dismay, despite considerable efforts from April, Leatherhead, and Raphael -who had started sneaking his medical books during his time as the Nightwatcher- Donatello remained the one best qualified to deal with their father's mounting health problems. The discovery that their father was not simply slowing with age, but had been wrestling with arthritis for years, had been a painful reminder that not all aspects of their mutant forms were good ones.

"He's been spending a lot of time in his room since April and Casey visited." Mikey observed. "Do you think there's something going on?"

"I don't know." Leo shook his head, and Don felt mildly gratified to see his own frustration on his brother's face. "I don't think so, but I'm not sure."

Don sighed as he stuffed his small toolkit back into the duffle Mikey handed him. "He won't tell me anything. When he caught the flu last year I practically had to lock him in the bathroom before he'd admit he was sick. He said he didn't want to worry me."

And there was the crux of the matter. He saw Leo and Raph exchange "the look" again, and resisted the urge to strangle both of them.

After Don's meltdown no one in his family was about to let him stress over them -or anything they could do themselves- anymore. It was nice sometimes, not having to worry about changing the spark plugs in the Battle Shell or the lightbulbs in the hallway. But it had quickly started to drive him nuts.

He'd overreached himself six months ago, he knew that. He knew that his brothers still blamed themselves for his breakdown, for expecting too many miracles from him while working a full time job, fighting, and trying to keep his family in one piece until they could be a real team again. Leonardo and Raphael felt particularly guilty about it, because they knew the added stress of leadership and a vigilante brother had been precisely the last thing he needed while juggling his normal self-imposed responsibilities of doctor, security, and technology expert with the unknowns of a missing brother.

So ever since he'd gotten hurt in that fight, lost his tech job due to the unexplained two week absence, and gone into complete meltdown as a result, he'd spent a large portion of his time trying to reassure his family that he was all right.

The results had been mixed. There were still days when the world just seemed too thin and he felt like he'd been running for eons, but they were rarer now, and his family had stopped interfering as long as he proved he could still function. Conversely, Donatello had become more graceful about accepting his father's occasional suggestions to leave certain matters to his brothers, despite the blows to his pride. But most of the time his brothers -with the notable exception of Michelangelo- treated him as if he was going to shatter if they asked him to do too much.

He owed a lot to Mikey now. They'd been forced to turn to each other during Leo's absence and Raphael's antisocial experiment as the Nightwatcher, and without that extra bond Don wasn't sure he would have been able to regain his sanity or self-respect.

While Leonardo and Raphael had been baffled by his devastation over the loss of his much hated tech job, Michelangelo had left to visit a few, very specific friends. A few days later, Leatherhead's old colleague and the turtles' friend Professor Jordan Perry had visited with the offer of legitimate employment as independent researchers contracted to TGRI, the daughter company of the Utrom's now defunct TCRI. When Don had learned who had been responsible for the amazing offer, Michelangelo had simply shrugged off his thanks, telling him that he knew what it felt like to lose a job he'd worked so hard at because he'd been trying to do the best thing for their family. And while Mikey could deal with losing his party business by putting his extra time into their family and friends, he'd seen that Donatello needed something more "geeky" and closer to his intellectual level than their little family could offer.

"Do you think his arthritis is bothering him?" Mikey asked quietly

"I don't know. Probably." Don admitted reluctantly.

"Nah. I bet Case did something stupid." Raph grunted, pushing himself off the wall. His voice was casual, but short, and Don suspected he was deliberately trying to divert the conversation to something less worrisome. "Nearly jumped out of his skin when I asked about the bag."

"I noticed that." Leo observed. "Did he tell you why?"

Raph shrugged. "Nope. Said April threatened to gut him if he did."

A smile flashed across Michelangelo's face as he jumped onto the topic. "Go Casey. I wonder what he did?"

"I'm sure we don't want to know." Leo grimaced. "But I doubt April would drag Casey to see Master Splinter if he knew he'd made a mistake."

"That's what I'm worried about." Don's voice was weary with tested patience as his brothers caught up with his reasoning. "When I talked to him earlier he seemed all right, but you know it's hard to tell sometimes if he doesn't want us to know."

All four fell silent, the only noise the steady, muffling hum of the pipes above them. Don saw the pained look flicker across Leo's face again, thankfully not for him this time, and Raph sighed as he exchanged another look with their leader. The two had been getting along much better since Leonardo had been forced to get it through his thick skull that the so-called hothead was now the most street-savvy of the four, but it had been a severe blow to the leader's pride to admit that Raphael's "grandstanding" as the Nightwatcher had done anything useful.

Of course, it also meant that the two of them had started ganging up on Don whenever they though he was pushing himself again.

It was Leo who finally broke the uneasy silence, looking vaguely guilty and uncomfortable at doing so. "Are you done here, Don?"

"Yeah." He hefted his duffle, and tried to ignore the eyes on him as he settled it into place. "Let's go."

* * *

The clink of the plate in the sink was the only sound in Tomomi's small apartment, the silence both unwanted and reassuringly familiar since Akio's death. Meticulously cleaning the few remnants of her meal kept her from dwelling on the fact it should be two plates, not one, and that the only humming was from the air conditioner in the bedroom.

She felt her heart sink a little more. It was really too nice a night to be running the bulky window unit. The bedroom was already cold, and there was a stiff enough breeze from the street that she could easily cool the living area by opening the window in here. But doing so meant removing one of the last barriers she had from the Foot, even if it did help maintain her cover as a clueless old immigrant woman.

The long, painful years cultivating that image were finally starting to pay off as the Foot closed in around her. She'd been aware of their surveillance for over a week now, and as far she could tell they had yet to suspect that she was more than just a middle-aged postal worker.

It didn't make her feel any better about the situation. The Kurama Clan had been aware of the financial and manpower difficulties the Foot had been enduring since the mysterious disappearance of Oroku Saki, but they hadn't dared investigate more closely until Tomomi had discovered they were under surveillance. Careful espionage by Naoko-san and Watanabe-san had unearthed the fact that Oroku Karai had forbidden the Foot Clan to hunt down the four kame "freaks." The dissension resulting from that order had created at least three different factions within the organization, all vying for control over the Foot Clan, but Tomomi had been unable to determine exactly who was watching her and her son.

She wasn't sure whether it mattered. Saki had sworn to destroy the Kurama Clan, and Karai was honor-bound to follow her father's wishes. Unlike the turtle demons, the Kurama Clan had done the Foot no great deed to justify an end to their feud. Even if Tomomi played her part perfectly, if Hamato-san came to her or Adam for confirmation of his parentage, suspicions were certain to be raised that would place everyone she knew in danger.

Not if, when. She didn't know how the Foot would let Hamato-san know of her son's existence, but she was certain they would find a way. And he would investigate. She didn't know when, but she knew without a doubt that if there was even a shred of the man she'd known all those years ago still alive somewhere, he would come to her for answers.

Even if it was a trap laid by their greatest enemy.

Tomomi didn't know what she wanted anymore. If the rumors of the four kame and their master's exploits were truly tied to Hamato-san, it merely proved that the powerful destinies swirling around the Ancient One's student were as strong as ever. Even speaking his name long after his supposed death had proven dangerous. The longer he failed to appear, the safer she and her growing family would be. But...

Hamanto-san was still part of the Kurama Clan, no matter what had happened in the decades since she'd last seen him. It was hard, even in her mind, to push him away. There were so few of them left, and they had been hiding so long, that she just couldn't let go of the hope that at least one other person had survived Saki's wrath.

Even if it meant she had to reveal Adam's true parentage to the one person she had spent a lifetime hiding him from.

_Akio, please forgive me..._

The plate gave one last clink as she replaced it in the cupboard, and faded away into the steady humming from the bedroom. Her throat closed as she struggled with the horrible sense of loss the silence brought, but she forced herself to swallow it down, and walked into the empty bedroom to turn off the air conditioner.

* * *

The address April had uncovered was an older building, six stories tall, the weathered brick facade boasting twin towers of fire escapes clinging to the front. Most of the apartments on the fourth floor were dark, but the curtains were thin or nonexistent and what glimpses Master Splinter could catch of their interiors made it clear they were not the ones he wanted. But the apartment farthest to left had a light in one of the two windows, and a thick cluster of heavy lace curtains obscured the inhabitants from view.

He felt a grim smile ghost across his lips. Whether or not Inoue-san was aware of the Foot's presence, she had clearly not forgotten her training. There were no windows in the narrow gap beside the building, and the windows looking onto the back alley belonged to an entirely different set of apartments. Of the two windows, the unlit window was blocked by an AC unit, leaving only the lit one on the corner fire escape for outside access. It was as defensible an arrangement as could be found in the city.

Unfortunately for him, it made any attempt to reach her also highly visible from the street, since he'd already noted the most logical place for surveillance to hide was in the shadowy mess of ductwork atop the building beside him.

Cautiously, he tested his assumption with an exploratory sniff, and felt his ears lay flat as he caught the all too familiar scent of several bodies worth of sweaty Foot Clan uniforms. Five or six of them, all trails laid down more or less consistently in the same place, and over the past week at least. The most recent had come through here just hours ago, and the entire area reeked of them. Thankfully however, there was not a whiff of Bishop's commandos. There was always a faint but distinguishable difference between their scents thanks to the specialized fabrics used in their uniforms that became stronger with exertion.

After spending over three decades as a human, it had taken years before he'd been able to handle the sudden explosion of information in his nose with any sort of grace. Even now, almost twenty years later, he still often found himself deliberately ignoring the overwhelming universe of scents that his nose presented him with. His heightened sense of smell allowed him to follow leads that no human could sense, and seemed to be the basis for many of his more powerful "gut feelings" even when he couldn't explain why he believed something to be true. At times it seemed that his mutation had offered him scent as a form of cheating at ninjutsu to counter the awkward skeletal arrangement of a bipedal rat.

It didn't feel like cheating tonight.

Frowning, he re-evaluated his options, and felt his heart drop. All the connecting apartments were clearly occupied, and he wasn't sure the vents in the residential building would be large enough to hold him -assuming she hadn't somehow rendered those entrances impassible. He could climb the alley wall in the shadow of the building's decorative stone edging and work his way around the corner to her window with shuko spikes, but it would still leave him visible from the street while he picked the window lock.

A car trundled slowly down the street, causing Splinter shrink back further into the shadows. But as the headlights cast their light into the alley across the street, they also played across the front of the building, and he felt a sudden, insane urge to laugh.

He wouldn't have to pick the lock after all.

It took longer than he liked to get into position without being seen, and by the time he found himself clinging to the wall of the darkest part of the alley running beside the apartment building, Splinter was gritting his teeth. His fur had gone gray for more reasons than just the stress of being a single father of four mutants in hiding, and after nearly ten minutes of cautious shuko use his knees and tail were not the only things informing him that he was no longer his sons' age.

But he was too close to back out now. As he inched toward the street with aching arms, freezing whenever a car went through the alley four stories down, he could see the outline of the complicated arrangement of ductwork behind the retaining wall of the building across the street. And nestled in a particularly dark patch of shadows between the rooftop access and a turbine, only a lifetime of training and eyes honed by the blackness of the sewers allowed him to see the vague outline of a human-shaped shadow a few shades off from the darkness.

Slowly he worked his way toward the street, plastering himself to the aging bricks and digging his toes into the mortar for extra support, grateful for the clawed toenails that had caused him so much annoyance over the years. As he moved, he kept his attention on the man-shaped shadow, making absolutely certain that there was no reaction to him, until he reached the corner decoration and crept as close to the scant inches of safety it offered as he dared.

The shadow moved.

Splinter froze, adrenaline surging through him as he saw the dark head move and the vague outline of shoulders leaning forward. A second later, he heard what had caught the watcher's attention. An argument at the front of the building, with at least three people raising their voices and getting louder by the moment.

He might not get another chance. Now, while the ninja was distracted...

It wasn't a graceful move. His arms were tired and trembling from clinging to walls, and his back and shoulders were screaming. But he managed to shove the discomfort aside and scramble around the corner stonework without loosing his grip, then pulled himself over the few feet to the fire escape under the window in seconds. The aging metal was well cared for and didn't creak much under his weight, the sound barely audible to him over the escalating argument below as he slipped in the narrow window.

* * *

The hum of air rushing through the flimsy metal ducts and through the turbine behind his back blocked almost all noise that reached Vince's ears, but he wasn't particularly concerned. A civilian on the roof would make enough noise to be heard over the fan, and the reason for his surveillance would never allow itself to be heard anyway.

Of course, right now Vince was betting that the woman was a dead end. According to the pictures in the Foot's archives alone, it was almost certain that Matsuda was really the rat's son. But so far they'd found nothing to suggest that the mother was more than a case of some idiot village girl getting knocked up and sent somewhere out of the way where she wouldn't be able to bring further dishonor to her family.

He leaned his head back against the thrumming ductwork behind him. His orders were simply to watch, and not interfere. If there was contact he was supposed to get close enough to hear what was said, but only if he could do so without being seen. It was boring work, but he welcomed the downtime. The mother had a very regular schedule, meaning he didn't even need to use the high powered binoculars with him to try to see through the heavy curtains -he knew she was making tea, and when she finished she was going to take it to the sofa with a book for an hour or two before bed. All he had to do was make sure no one entered the window or front door unobserved.

The Ryuu no Ashioto had tried bugging her apartment, but the woman was a meticulous cleaner, and rather than risk suspicion they had resigned themselves to human agents. Any use of the smaller and more advanced surveillance technology had to be approved by the technology head Dr. Chaplin or Mistress Karai herself, and it was vital to their plans that they didn't suspect the continued existence of the organization.

He scowled. The woman was useless. Ever since she'd come to power, the Clan had been hemorrhaging personnel. He'd heard the stories about needing a woman in the top ranks to control certain mystical artifacts, but it didn't explain why Karai been appointed Saki's successor. Her inability to control the artifacts usually assigned to the male leaders had cost the Foot Clan dearly when they went rogue.

It had gotten worse after that. The Tech Ninjas had defected when she cut salaries while trying to fix the damage the demon Shredder had done, and after she'd married Chaplin she'd lost nearly three quarters of the more traditional Japanese-trained ninja. And then she'd stubbornly stuck by her orders not to hunt the freaks after their assistance dealing with that demon Shredder. She'd finally been forced to go mercenary after that, but it was only after the Yoikage's assassination attempt that she'd been inspired to forcibly reunite most of the Foot. Her vicious retribution had inspired considerable respect among the new ranks, but Vince felt that it was too little too late -and by recruiting the freaks to help her revenge she'd betrayed everything the Clan stood for.

If the Ashioto were going to succeed, they needed to make sure the freaks were either dead or too busy to interfere. They knew perfectly well that they couldn't fight the freaks and win without overwhelming numbers and extra technology requisitioned from Dr. Chaplin, so they'd needed some other way to entangle the freaks until they could take control of the Clan and dispose of them properly.

Matsuda was perfect, but only if the freaks decided to investigate.

The front door of the building fairly exploded outward, spilling a small collection of people onto the front steps of the apartment. Vince blinked, and leaned forward, careful not to leave the shadows of the ductwork. He hadn't had anything this interesting to watch since the drunkard had gotten locked out four nights ago.

"You little piece of..."

Another man shoved the first shouter, knocking him down the shallow stairs and causing the younger woman to shriek before the first guy bounced off the pavement and came back swinging. Somewhere between the older woman running off in a huff and the small guy insulting the giant's manhood, Vince shot a guilty glance up at the window he was supposed to be watching.

Nothing. Just the curtain rippling in the breeze.

Satisfied, he turned his attention back to the fight.

* * *

Master Splinter had only a moment to note the clean and sparsely furnished living area he found himself in before the woman standing in the kitchenette by the front door reacted. At the sound of his feet landing lightly on the carpet she spun to face him, gracefully whipping the kettle off the stove with a casual skill he had not seen in decades.

And froze, her eyes widening ever so slightly as she hitched her breath in the tiniest exclamation of surprise.

April had not been able to find a recent photograph, and the woman Splinter saw before him didn't trigger any immediate recognition from the jumbled impressions he called his memories. She was about the right height as that long lost girl, perhaps a little more than a foot taller than his mutant form, with graying black hair pulled gracefully back. The prim, pastel blouse and loose slacks hid any hint of muscles, but he could tell from the way she'd moved that they were there. Her face was expressionless, her dark eyes guarded.

But somewhere in her sudden rush of adrenaline, hidden behind years of maturity, he smelled something familiar. Tea -a tamaryokucha blend that Mistress Ozu had favored, the aroma probably coming from the small flakes of crushed greenery clinging to her fingers. A faint whiff of scentless deodorant. And something more personal, more primal that he had only smelled once before with a human nose in a rice field twenty years before.

The scent of a woman flushed with adrenaline and giddy with relief to be alive, her tight control and reserve flung aside for one night under the moon.

Inoue Tomomi, now Mrs. Tomomi Matsuda.

She'd survived.

But it wasn't that long lost girl who stood before him now. This was a woman who had clearly seen nearly as many years as he had, and was quite possibly a master of her skills to have survived so long. Only the adrenaline that had clued him to her identity gave any hint that he'd caught her at a disadvantage in her own home, her demeanor serene even as she stood before him with a faintly hissing kettle in her hand.

Inoue-san studied him, her eyes doing a quick assessment of the giant rat before flicking to the curtains he'd come through, the heavy lace now settling into place again. Her expression didn't change much, barely a muscle twitching as thoughts raced behind her eyes, until she turned back to him once more and met his gaze.

She lowered the kettle to her side, the catch in her breath barely audible as things fell into place, and something Splinter had never once thought he'd see on her face flickered behind her eyes.

Recognition.


	8. Chapter 8

_Here's the next chapter! Sorry it took so long. Writing the confrontation was more difficult than I initially hoped, and even after heavy editing it's still a little long. Let me know if anything doesn't make sense!_

_And thanks once more to Amicitia Revenant! Hopefully I can get the next chapter out a little faster for you. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own the TMNT, for which they are probably very grateful._

_

* * *

  
_

Tomomi hummed thoughtfully to herself, rolling a few specks of dried leaves between her fingers to test the prepackaged blend. The tea was old, but still usable, although it was certainly nearing its expiration date.

A shout drifted in through the window behind her, and she caught herself before the muscles in her back tensed. She'd left the window open because leaving the window closed on such a nice night would have been suspicious, but maybe she should close it anyway. Her senses were on full and she kept jumping at every small sound from the street...

There was a faint squeal of metal behind her, and she was reaching for the kettle before she even heard the soft rustle of the curtain or the thud of something landing lightly on the carpet. Adrenaline surged through her as she spun, the reassuring weight of the kettle swinging smoothly through the air with a familiar momentum. It wasn't the ideal weapon, but Mistress Ozu had made certain that all her kunoichi could defend themselves with whatever came to hand and it wouldn't be the first time she'd used a tea kettle for defense...

To say she froze into place at the sight of her intruder would be inaccurate. Instead her eyes registered the situation before her brain could comprehend what it was seeing, and as a result her muscles simply refused to move.

It was... A rat. About four feet tall, with graying fur and dressed in a brown robe eerily reminiscent of the monk's robe once worn by members of the Kurama clan who had chosen to become yamabushi. The curtains were still flapping from his passage, and he'd landed in a defensive position to the side of the window and out of direct line of sight of anyone watching. She saw his nostrils flare slightly as he tested the air, and swiftly came to the only possible conclusion.

The rat master from the rumors. The nezumi who had trained the four kame the Foot Clan hated so much, who fought in the old style of the Kurama Clan and the Ancient One. The creatures the Foot Clan believed her son's search for Hamato-san would lead them to.

The curtains were already settling back into place, muffling the noise from outside and leaving the room in a tense silence as Tomomi shifted her attention back to the rat, trying to get a more thorough assessment of the creature before her surveillance decided to pay a visit to an old enemy -if they had noticed it's arrival. The rumors all stressed that the rat was a true master of ninjutsu, whose only real weaknesses were age and the turtles themselves.

Now, with the evidence of her eyes, she could easily believe it. The animal before her was definitely skilled -its carriage alone gave it away- and very, very intelligent for its species. Its eyes...

Her breath caught, and the arm holding the kettle at the ready seemed to loose its strength, dropping the steaming object to her side.

No.

It couldn't be.

And yet... she had already come to the conclusion that he was still alive, or she wouldn't be under surveillance, and her recent espionage had given her enough information to make the connection of the turtles and their nezumi master to her old clansman. The idea that the rat might be Hamato-san had seemed so impossible that she'd barely considered it. But now that she knew to look, even in such a strange form she could see hints of that lost man of her memories.

"Your eyes..." She murmured wonderingly in Japanese. The color was the same warm brown, and even the shape was hauntingly familiar; his fur and new form rounding the outline just enough to keep them from being identical to her son's. "They haven't changed, have they, Hamato-san."

The rat inhaled softly at her words. Tomomi could see the wariness in his expression even as he relaxed his defensive posture, straightening a bit more to face her before inclining his head in a graceful acknowledgement.

"You are as observant as ever, Inoue-san."

His voice was quiet, rougher and lower than she remembered, almost heavier with the weight of years. It somewhat reminded her of Watanabe-san's voice, only with a more of a growl to the edges. But the quiet words caused her to swallow before answering calmly.

"No one has called me that in thirty years, Hamato-san."

The elderly rat bowed his head slightly in apology, never taking his eyes off her as he switched to lightly accented English. "Ah. Forgive me. Mrs. Matsuda."

Her heart squeezed as she felt something inside her start to die at the beloved title, something that had been stirred for the first time in decades when he said her maiden name. For the briefest of moments she had been home again, transported back to before her exile to this island city and the weight of hiding her heritage from her child and hostile clans, back to a young woman secure in her place in the world and in love with her life in Japan. She'd lived an entire lifetime since her last farewell to Hamato-san, and now those long buried feelings were suddenly laid bare to reveal a deep, vital need for something to connect her to that long ago girl before she lost her completely.

"No, please." Despite the sudden irrational surge of desperation coursing through her, her voice remained steady and in control. "Call me Inoue-san."

Any doubts she had about the identity of her visitor were banished then, when she saw the look in his eyes. Underneath the wariness, the cautious reserve that came from too many years of hiding, she saw the same selfish desire to connect to a nearly forgotten past that she held.

"As you wish."

Tomomi nodded, guilt clawing at her for tossing aside her husband's name for nostalgia's sake, and forced herself back to more important matters.

"Did they see you?"

Hamato-san glanced back at the window, where the faint sounds of the argument below could be heard drifting through the opaque lace.

"I do not think so."

She released a breath, wanting to trust his assessment but knowing better than doing so without checking herself. She had no reason to believe he would intentionally betray her or her son, but there were too many questions raised by his presence -and current appearance- that needed answered, for both of them.

And if he'd been spotted...

She'd better check on that now.

"If you could wait a moment, senpai?" She asked politely.

Long lips curved at the schoolyard title, and she suffered a twisted form of déjà vu for a moment when the brown eyes glimmered with a familiar humor that she had seen far too often in a bright, mischievous little boy. Even in this strange form, it was so easy to see the man who'd given her her son...

No. She couldn't allow herself to think like that. Akio was Adam's father, not Yoshi, no matter where the genes had come from.

"Of course."

Tomomi risked turning away long enough to place the kettle back on the stove and turn off the burner, her neck hairs rising in paranoia as the window left her line of sight, but she kept her movements casual, graceful as she turned back to the lace curtains.

She couldn't see her observer through the lace, but she knew they couldn't see her very well either, between the extra panels she'd added to the curtain rod and the deliberate layout of the furniture. There were times she had cursed her and Akio's paranoia, but in the past few weeks it had provided her with a surprising amount of privacy even while under surveillance. Even as she went to the window now, her blood humming nervously in her ears as she passed Hamato-san's strange new form and parted the lace, she was confident that whoever was watching her could only see what she let them.

There was no one on the fire escape, no strange shadows clinging to the walls or hidden in the dumpsters. Nielsen and his cronies were still slugging it out on the sidewalk below, and she allowed herself a distasteful expression before closing the window. But as the glass jerked and shuddered down into place once more, she saw the shadow she'd pegged as her spy for the night move, leaning back from the edge of the building where they'd been watching the fight below.

Good. They probably hadn't noticed him enter, although there was no way to know for sure. All she could do was trust her instincts.

Feeling oddly vulnerable, she carefully locked the window and drew the lace curtain closed before turning, deliberately blocking any glimpse of the interior the watching ninja might catch as she turned her attention back to the giant rat in her living room.

"They're watching the fight. Please, sit." She gestured to the sofa tucked against the wall out of direct line of sight of the window.

He frowned, eyes darting suspiciously around the room before raising a thick eyebrow. "Are they listening?"

She shook her head, keeping the movement slight and imperceptible to the watcher in case they'd pulled out the binoculars again. "No." A slight smile touched her lips as she added. "They believe I am harmless."

She was rewarded with a soft snort from the long nose before the old rat nodded, and slipped silently across the room. As he settled himself on the worn upholstery, she retuned to the little kitchen, trying to shove down her conflicting emotions. A rat. Hamato-san had somehow been transformed, and even after twenty years he was still attracting trouble from the Foot Clan, placing her family and what was left of her clan in danger.

And yet, Hamato-san was part of the Kurama Clan too, however indirectly, and without him she never would have had Adam or met Akio...

Swallowing, she pulled the kettle off the burner and reached for the dried leaves she'd been fingering a few moments before. She wanted answers, and she knew he did too. Might as well be comfortable while they did so, and she knew that she at least was going to want the liquid reassurance.

"Would you like some tea?"

* * *

Their feet made almost no sound as they ran across the rooftops, moving almost in unison from shadow to shadow. There was no true darkness in New York City, but there were areas where the lights from the giant rooftop billboards and the streetlamps below struggled to penetrate, leaving only the general haze of light pollution to illuminate the strange corners under water towers and behind cooling units. Only the most skilled and patient of observers would have been able to see the slight flickering of shadows between the irregular patches of darkness that noted their passage.

Years ago, when they had first been allowed to run free outside the Lair together without Master Splinter's supervision, such perfect attention to their training would have sent a thrill of pride through Leonardo. He would have gloried in the silence, unbroken by snickers or shouts that could betray their presence; would have been grateful for the absence of the deliberate disobedience designed to irritate him.

But not anymore.

He came to a stop on the final roof of the training run, scanning the neighboring buildings for watchers before returning his attention to his brothers. The sound of heavy bodies landing skillfully behind him was barely audible, with only the slight creaking of belts and the groaning of the roof to give them away.

Leonardo felt something inside him tighten. They could tell this roof was empty just as easily as he could, and the surrounding ones as well. But there was no banter, no easy laughter or teasing or even the beginnings of a grumbling argument behind him like there would have been before. Just silence. And the professionalism his brothers were showing didn't thrill him or fill him with pride -just a vague sense of sadness and guilt.

The last set of feet hit the rooftop behind him, and Leo turned to face his brothers as they cautiously emerged from the shadows.

"Good." He stated, running his mind over the run, and coming up with very little to criticize. Or more accurately, nothing he was willing to address. "That was almost perfect. Let's see if we can repeat it on the way back."

He turned, and was about to start running when a groan filled the air.

"Come on, Leo." Michelangelo exclaimed, throwing his head back to emphasize how exasperating he thought his brother was being. "It's gorgeous tonight. Do we really have to go back now?"

Leonardo hesitated. It _was_ a beautiful night, cloudless and with a warm wind on the roofs. The temperature was certainly far more pleasant than it had been for the past week and probably warmer than it would be for several months. In short, it was an ideal night to be a turtle. But…

"He's got a point." Raph added, leaning on the low wall edging the roof and looking out over the alley. "School's started and the holiday crazies aren't out yet. Seems a waste not to actually have some fun for a change."

Leo swallowed his automatic reply, looking between the two. It didn't used to be a significant event when his brothers wanted to goof off after a training run…

He looked over at Donatello. He really shouldn't even be considering this. But they hadn't really had a fun night out together lately, only staying out just long enough to get some training and maybe stop a few thugs before going back to the Lair. They'd finished the training he'd intended, and there didn't seem to be much fighting to do tonight. With winter on the way, this would probably be their last chance.

"Don?"

His brother looked indecisive, and Leo held his breath as Don mulled it over for a moment. He wasn't going to push this. Not when the four of them had finally started to become comfortable with each others' changed personalities, and especially not with Donatello. They were all adults now. There was no point in forcing anyone to stay out if they didn't want to.

Don shrugged. "Why not?"

Three sets of hopeful eyes turned to Leo, and he felt the tense balloon inside him deflate. The past few months had been so hard, tiptoeing around his brothers and trying to figure out whether he was doing the right thing or if he was unintentionally hurting them again…

"All right." He conceded, a small smile twitching across his face as Mikey whooped. "We're probably not going to get another night like this until next summer."

"Yes!" Mike exclaimed. "Fun time!"

Leo wasn't the only one who found Mikey's enthusiasm infectious. Donatello was smiling. Raph was still leaning against the wall, his expression neutral and his eyes hard, but he looked more relaxed than he had been for quite a while.

"So what should we do?" Mikey rocked back and forth on his heels as he thought. "Ninja Tag? Nah, we've been running for hours..."

"Do you need anything at the junkyard Don?" Leo asked practically, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at Mikey's exaggeration.

His brother shook his head. "Not that I know of. I'm still waiting on the parts Professor Perry ordered."

"There's a couple movies playing. But nothing really good... But we could get ice cream, or pizza, or Chinese..."

"What's the point in enjoying the weather if we have ta wear a disguise?" Raph interrupted, turning away from the ledge to face his brothers with crossed arms.

"It's not my fault you're so ugly."

Leo groaned, anticipating the comeback. "Mike!"

But Raphael didn't bite. The look he shot their brother would have caused paint to melt and made Michelangelo grin nervously back, but Raph said nothing, and Mikey didn't add to the taunt.

Leonardo felt his throat tighten for a moment when he realized Raph wasn't going to retaliate. He knew he shouldn't feel guilty over something so stupid. How often had he prayed, hoped for Raphael to control his temper? For Mikey to learn where the limits of his teasing should be, instead of where it actually ended? His brothers were growing up, and it had been inevitable for them to face their inner demons just as he had.

What tormented him in his dreams and these awkward moments was the simple realization that he had been the reason they faced them unprepared and alone. Still hurt by his perceived betrayal, they had tried to face the countless demons and insecurities created by their lives without reaching out to one another for help. They had won in the end, but the fight had broken something inside them, hardened them in subtle ways that would never had happened if they had asked for help or if he had returned on time.

Even more than Raphael's terrifying restraint and Donatello's almost visibly fragile psyche, it was Michelangelo's newfound maturity that haunted Leo the most. He was still the fun-loving turtle he'd always been, but there was a shadow in his blue eyes now, a hardness from too many nights watching over bleeding brothers and friends, too many ungrateful worlds saved and too many lost dreams and harsh lessons learned in too short a time. In the fallout after Don's breakdown it was his "little" brother who had taken over the majority of the driving, topside errands, and family finances, carefully keeping track of everything on the little computer Don had built him for his business.

Before the silence could set in or Mikey could offer some other inane comment, Don tossed in another suggestion.

"Why don't we see if April and Casey are busy?"

"By the time we get there it's going to be after ten." Leo warned, feeling like a traitor to his own cause. But even if it was the city that never slept, it didn't mean their friends didn't. "They might be..."

"Nah." Raph grunted. "Case said he was going out tonight."

That surprised Leo. Raph and Casey still went out together frequently, but neither went out on their own very often anymore. After watching his brother storm off repeatedly only to be later found wandering the sewers instead of up top, Leo suspected that the change wasn't just for April and Master Splinter's sakes, but that the two were secretly relieved to have someone watch their back again after Raph's long solo stint as the Nightwatcher.

"Alone?"

Raph shrugged. "He's seeing who moved into that burned building by the shop. Looks amateur, but it might be the weed smugglers the Mafia were funding."

_Might as well check in with him then._ Leo thought resignedly. _Just in case he finds something. Casey would be the first to kill me if I suggested he needed backup, but April will fry us alive if something happens to him._

"So I take it we're going to April's?" Leo asked, reaching for his shell cell to call their father.

His brothers glanced around at one another, and Raph shrugged.

"Looks like."

* * *

Master Splinter slipped the little phone his sons had dubbed a "shell cell" back into his robes, silently grateful that his sons had not attempted to call him while he was en route to the apartment. Across from him, Inoue-san was cradling her tea in her lap, her expression thoughtful as she mulled over the story he'd told her prior to his sons' call.

The conversation had been cautious, mostly touching on the past as they tried to determine whether the other was truly who they believed them to be. He knew they could not afford to dance around the true reason for his visit much longer. There was no telling if or when the ninja watching her would decide to come closer for a better look through her obscuring curtains.

"Your sons are training tonight?"

Her voice was polite, inquiring but controlled. He'd already discovered that while her self-control was extraordinary, her voice control was exquisite. After the first few minutes he'd started to rely on his nose to tell when she was rattled or upset, as he had almost no other clues to go by.

His nose was telling him now that there was more to the question than polite inquiry, although he wasn't sure what. She'd accepted the reality of his story with surprising equanimity, and listened to his brief summary of his family's interactions and current relationship with the Foot Clan with intense, if dubious, interest. It was clear that she found his mutation and the subsequent extraordinary events easier to accept than concept of an Oroku attempting to honorably end a generations-long blood feud. Given his own experiences and doubts about Karai's character and the circumstances of this meeting, he could not blame her.

"Hai."

As Inoue-san sipped her tea, he found his gaze straying from the dignified woman across from him, studying the bevy of photographs on the low table once more. One in particular caught his attention. Amidst the birthday shots and gymnastics poses was a younger version of the man April had shown him, sitting on a bench outside Battery Park as he read a letter.

The species was wrong, the time and place impossible to compare. But the way the young man in the photograph focused on the paper reminded him quite forcibly of Donatello.

He had to know. Now. In their mutual nostalgia they had already pushed this meeting well past the point of inexcusable risk, and if it had been his sons doing so he would have condemned them to the dojo for eternity.

"This is your son?"

"Yes. Adam."

He nodded, turning back to the pictures. They were all there, a record of Adam's life in a montage of precious moments that he had never been able to do with his own sons. And now, with so many angles, so many ages and moments arrayed for comparison, he realized he didn't even need to ask the question he'd come for. All he had to do was compare the child to the man he remembered distantly as Matsuda Akio, and the young man on the bench to the almost nonexistent glimpses he remembered of his human face in a mirror.

"It was the night in the fields, wasn't it, Inoue-san?"

She dropped her gaze, hiding her face for a moment with a graceful sip of her tea, and for the first time since his entrance he didn't need his nose to know that her emotions were swinging wildly as she tried to get them back under control.

"Hai."

Splinter closed his eyes, letting the flood of thoughts and emotions wash through him without resistance. Why couldn't it have been Shen? He'd known, somehow, since the Joneses had come to him. But to hear it confirmed...

What was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to tell his sons?

And what did he say to her?

The Clan had never told him, never given him any hint of how he'd shamed Inoue-san with his impetuous actions or demanded that he redeem her honor and wed. Instead they'd championed his marriage to Shen and hidden them when he'd discovered his brother's betrayal meant the Utroms could no longer use such a recognizable figure as a Guardian, nor could he stay in Japan with the entire Foot Clan after him. They had even supported him when he'd killed Oroku Nagi in a violent rage after Saki's lecherous body double and "brother" had assaulted his wife while visiting the coastal school they'd been hiding at, an act that Saki had later told him had condemned the Kuramas to extermination...

"Why didn't you tell me?"

His voice wasn't as steady as he'd hoped. But he didn't think he could control himself right now, certainly not with the skill Inoue-san was showing. He'd never been able to. It had been his greatest failing as a ninja, Guardian, and father.

"You were destined for Shen, Hamato-san." Inoue-san kept her eyes on the teacup in her hands, and when it came her voice was soft, matter-of-fact, yet almost... apologetic. "The masters could see it, as could I. They didn't dare interfere, and decreed that you were never to know. And when you were sent here, we decided it was best if we did not meet again. I did not want to hurt Shen, and Akio..."

There was a slight hitch to her breathing at the mention of her deceased husband's name, but she finished her explanation smoothly.

"...Akio was afraid you would take Adam from him."

Splinter blinked, feeling as if the floor had been yanked from under him. It was painful to admit, but he could easily understand Matsuda-san's fear. The thought of loosing his sons in any form was enough to send him into a blind panic. But to go to such lengths to keep the knowledge of his own child from him? What had the Kurama masters seen in his future? Had they known what was going to happen to him, as the Tribunal had?

His throat clenched with old anger. He loved his sons dearly, and would not trade a single hardship-stricken moment with them for all the humanity in the world. But he still could not condone the Tribunal's utter disregard for the lives they had wantonly destroyed in their quest to destroy the Tengu Shredder, himself and his sons included.

A paranoid glance toward the window behind him was once again arrested by the table of photographs. He let his gaze linger there, trying to sort through his feelings as the facts of the matter slowly sank in. He had a son, a _human_ son, by a woman that he'd never loved, and barely known. While she seemed to bear no ill will toward him for destroying her career and sending her into exile with a stranger on foreign shores, she had still obeyed the Kurama masters' directive not to tell him of his own son.

Until Adam...

"Why do the Foot know of Adam, Inoue-san?"

The teacup in her hands trembled, and he felt his eyes widen when the contained kunoichi suddenly bowed, her forehead nearly touching the couch cushions.

"Forgive me, Hamato-san." She murmured, despair audible in the soft words. "It is my fault. Akio had... I believed you were dead, and he just wanted to know your name. I thought..."

There was a slight hitch in her words as she caught herself, pulled herself together enough to remove the tremble in her voice and lifted her gaze to meet his once more.

"You are a parent too, Hamato-san." Black eyes stared into his, searching for empathy with her plight. "You understand."

A knot formed in Splinter's throat as he suddenly recognized the trap she'd fallen into. In a moment of weakness she had given in to her child's request, knowing the dangers but hoping that it would somehow work out for his sake. But instead of being satisfied with his name, Adam had actively searched for him and unknowingly attracted the attention of the Foot Clan, endangering them all.

He knew her pain all too well.

"I understand."

She breathed a sigh, eyes closing for a moment as she straightened, head and shoulders still bowed.

"Thank you."

He nodded, looking away to allow her to regain her composure in peace, centrally placed wedding photo catching his attention this time. April had found some information on the young woman, Jenna Allison Matsuda, nee Bentley, but not much more than he had on Adam. She was a year younger than Adam and originally from Pennsylvania, had attended the same college as her husband, spent time in India as part of the Peace Core before marrying Adam on her return four years before, and currently worked in the acquisitions department for an Indian fabric import company.

"This is his wife?"

"Yes. Jenna."

"Are they..." He paused a moment, not entirely certain what he wanted to ask about the young couple and struggling through his own conflicted and disjointed memories of his wife before finally settling on "...happy?"

Inoue-san nodded serenely, glancing with clear pride in the direction of the photograph. "Yes. She is his match."

_His match_. Someone had once told him the same about Shen, years before in Japan. And now the phrase was being applied to his biological son, who also had a wife; a wife that was considered to be his other half by those who loved him.

Swallowing, he hoped that this was not a sign for the future. At least Adam had no brother or sister to continue the cycle he'd inadvertently started...

No siblings, but Adam was married. And the couple was easily old enough...

He swallowed, trying to force down the sudden yearning and panic at the enormity of the situation he was facing.

"Do they have any children?"

"Jenna is due in April."

The whisper was torn, straining at the bounds of her composure, clearly fighting its way out of a choked throat to answer him. But before he could reply her head snapped up, eyes opening to bore into him with a determination born of desperation.

"Adam is your son, Hamato-san. But Akio is his father, and this is _his_ grandchild. I cannot let you take that from him."

Only the sensation of his teacup slipping from his nerveless fingers jolted him out of the shocked disbelief that had engulfed Splinter at her abrupt change of manner, revealing the terrified mother determined to protect her modest family underneath the professional kunoichi. He snatched at the china, catching it before the liquid could spatter the carpet.

It was only then that her meaning started to sink in.

"Inou..."

"You have four sons, Hamato-san, but Akio has no other heir. I cannot let you take this child from us." She repeated firmly, eyes bright and voice trembling with intensity as she interrupted him.

"Adam believes you are dead, and has stopped searching for you. Danger follows you always Hamato-san. The Foot are hunting us because of you, and if you do not recognize him as your son there is a chance they will decide he is useless and leave us alone. But if you go to him, if you claim him..."

Inoue-san stopped abruptly, breathing deeply and shooting a fleeting, despairing glance at the curtained window. She let the silence linger for a moment before turning back to him, solemnly meeting his eyes again.

"I will not have my family slaughtered before my eyes, Hamato-san."

Splinter swallowed, closing his eyes to block out her painful gaze and tightening his grip on the china.

She was right. His very presence was a danger, and any half-formed notions he'd started to entertain of contacting his human son, of seeing the grandchild he'd never thought he'd have, needed to be forgotten now. For all their sakes. It would have to be enough to know that he was not the only one anymore, that there were other members of his adoptive clan who had survived the Foot's revenge. That his line would not end with his sons, and would be carried with his genes if not in spirit or name.

_But..._

The word was a whisper, defiantly echoing from the depths of his mind. There was something there, a flaw in her explanation, a loophole that might allow him to do more than simply throttle and let die the primordial desire to see his grandchild. Something from his experience, that both of them knew but were not saying...

He opened his eyes, and felt his heart squeeze at the sight of her kneeling on the sofa across from him again, her composed mask once more in place.

"The Foot Clan does not like loose ends, Inoue-san." He said softly, uncertain whether to grieve or feel triumphant when she flinched slightly at his words. "They may not leave you alone."

There was silence for a long moment as she closed her eyes again, blocking him from further hints to her feelings or thoughts save for what he could smell.

"I know."

Splinter nodded to himself, trying to justify what he was about to propose, uncertain whether she would take the offer and equally uncertain whether he could manage it.

"I will not go to Adam." He paused, licking dry lips as her scent betrayed the hope leaping through her at his words. "But."

She tensed, keeping her eyes closed and her head bowed.

"But." He repeated more gently, certain of his path now. It wasn't much, and it was still dangerous, but it at least left him the option of contact should things go wrong.

"I would like to know when the child is born, if they move, when things change. It is your grandchild." He raised his voice a little at her look of alarm, holding up a calming hand. "Yours and Matsuda-san's. I will not interfere. But I would like to occasionally know how they are faring. If they are happy. Safe."

Tensely, he waited, hoping she would allow him this one concession. It was dangerous, even with Donatello's encrypted phones and scrambling technology to hide their whereabouts, but... an email, or perhaps a text or quick photo once every few months. Something.

She hesitated a moment longer, then nodded.

"I..." He hesitated for a moment, then made his decision, knowing that he was going to regret it even as Inoue-san clearly regretted telling Adam his human name. But at the moment, it seemed like the best thing to do.

"My sons do not know of yours, only a friend of ours. I will not tell them. But if the Foot attack, they will need to know. _All_ of them will need to know."

He didn't insult her intelligence by asking her to contact him in case of trouble. If there was time and the situation was desperate enough, she would reach him by whatever means he gave her. And he would come if he could, to aid what little was left of his old Clan, just as he had vowed when he'd first started his training a lifetime ago.

The silence was longer this time, settling on them both like a fine layer of dust and enveloping them in their own little world as she considered his terms.

"Hai."


End file.
